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peachtree-dish · 3 years

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A Te Che Sei il Mio Grande Amore Ch. 7: Niente ti farà del male piccola

23 Gennaio, 1970

The first indication of Luca’s growth spurt began with his school blazer suddenly feeling too tight as he raised his hands in class. The second indication came from bursting seams on his pants and his pants becoming more like capris as he wore them each day. The third time his inseam split, Signora Mia finally resigned herself to the reality of new clothes. Now, standing in front of his mirror, Luca could see the changes he had been too busy to notice before. His body was lengthening and becoming more svelte, with his legs becoming toned from cycling around the city. His face had slimmed down, losing most of the baby fat and child-like roundness he had grown accustomed to for most of his life.

The only features that hadn’t changed with time were his eyes; richly brown with flecks of gold and red. Luca wondered what Alberto would think of when he saw him. His friend’s voice had begun to deepen when they spoke two months prior, and Luca had all but melted into the warm depths of that voice. Would Alberto have a similar reaction to seeing Luca as he grew into himself? His thoughts were mildly put on hold as a gentle hand knocked on his bedroom door seeking permission to enter. Giulia entered, her hair damps from her bath and her skin glowing from the warmth of the water.

Dante and Luisa had left about an hour ago, having visited for after-school studying. He was not overly excited for their upcoming midterms, and with the added stress of assisting the teachers, he felt nervous about how his grades would fair. She plopped none too gently on his bed while the sounds of Signora Mia’s poor singing and the radio blasting in the kitchen echoed into his room.

“They’re playing the Beatles again?” He inquired, picking up the familiar tunes under Mia’s caterwauling. He pretended to brush imaginary dust from the light blue shirt he was wearing while strains of ‘Let it Be’ floated through the air. Giulia grinned and nodded, wincing when her mother’s voice reached for a particularly high note.

“I think Beatlemania has finally bitten her.” She rolled onto her stomach and faced him. “Were you going to try on the clothes we bought?” She inquired. He flushed under her scrutiny, not wishing to appear vain, and instead opted for sitting nonchalantly in his chair by the window.

“No, I was just thinking about changes.”

“Like what kind of changes?”

“The physical kind; I didn’t realize we were growing up.” Giulia hummed in thought. Just like her mother, both women had a gift to perceive and understand those around them with hardly any words or context.

“You don’t seem overly happy about it?” She cautiously pried.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly, it’s something new.”

“Well, if it helps, you look good in your new wardrobe. I can hear the swooning girls now.” Giulia grinned wolfishly. The thought of girls noticing him more made Luca nervous and uncomfortable.

“I sure hope not,” he looked out the window to the hues of sunlight bathing the coral and cream houses orange. The lighting reminded him of Porto Rosso, and in turn, reminded him of Alberto.

“Don’t you want to start dating? Dante hardly shuts up about girls and most everyone in your grade is going out. Unless you’re only allowed to date sea monsters.” He continued to avoid her gaze, instead focusing on a flock of pigeons strutting along the rooftop to the left.

“No one interests me here.” He hedged after a moment.

“Not even Luisa?”

Now that got his attention.

“Ew, what? No!” He wagged his arms in horror, nearly losing his balance on the chair.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Giulia soothed, baffled at his reaction.

“No offense to her or anything, I just… no. Definitely not.”

“Bene, she’s not interested, if that helps.”

“Why did you ask her?”

“I never said I did,” Giulia blustered, pink spreading across her face. Luca just stared at her with an unimpressed expression. She laughed nervously, glancing to the side.

“I was just curious,” she mumbled. She began to wrap strands of hair around her fingers, obviously avoiding his gaze now. A light suddenly clicked in Luca’s brain.

“Do you like her?” Giulia’s head snapped up and she glared at him.

“Do you like Alberto?” She shot back.

Looking back at this moment, Luca would realize he should have felt fear, or nervous, perhaps even anger, but Giulia’s question felt like a shock to his system. A switch flicked on and flooded his body with realization and for the first time in years, Luca understood everything.

A shock of laughter escaped him, “Yeah, actually. I do.” He laughed again, this time harder, unsure as to why tears were starting to leak down his cheeks, staining them green. Luca pressed his face into his hands as his laughter turned into hysterical gasps for air.

“Actually, I-I think I’m in love with him.” Oh shit, shit, shit, shit. “O mio Dio, I’m in love with my best friend, Gules.” He didn’t hear Giulia move until her arms were suddenly wrapping around him and she was awkwardly rubbing circles into his back.

“Is this okay?” She asked. He could no longer form words, so Luca nodded his consent instead.

When he eventually calmed down and the only evidence of his initial panic were the scale tracks on his face and neck, Giulia quietly went to grab him a glass of water and held it out for him to take.

“Sorry, that was dramatic.” He whispered croakily. Giulia laughed kindly and patted his shoulder.

“I think dramatic is a requirement in our family. Besides, you already know how I can be too much.”

They sat in silence for a time with their arms around each other, the light outside fading to the familiar dark and loud nightlife of Genoa.

“Per favore, don’t tell my mama.” Luca cast her a look of confusion. “About Luisa.” She amended. “As kind and accepting as she is, I think this is something that would be too much of a sorpresa.”

The red-headed teen scuffed her big toe against the floor, eyes downcast.

“Hey,” Luca nudged her softly, prompting her to look up at him. “She might be the one to surprise you. I’ve never met two people like your parents, Giulia, who truly only lived to make their child happy.”

“Ad ogni modo, I’m still not ready for that conversation. Besides, it’s not like I have a chance. Luisa’s, like, super pretty and smart, and Santa mozzarella! When she sings, it’s incredibile!”

Luca smiled as his friend rambled on about the Sicilian sea monstress, wondering if this was how he looked every time he gushed about Alberto. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and an endless amount of knowledge about the one person you consider to be your whole world. It was a wonder no one else knew of his feelings.

21 Marzo 1970

“Santa ziti! You’ve been in love with him this whole time?!”

“Zitto, Ciccio! I’d rather not have the whole town know, thank you.” Alberto flung flour at the blonde’s face, nervously checking to make sure no one had heard them. They were currently working in the kitchen behind the Pasticcini’s front area, with Alberto kneading the dough and Ciccio creating scores in the bread or decorating the more delicate sweets.

Ciccio winced apologetically and lowered his voice, leaning in for good measure.

“Does he know, or have you not told him yet?”

“Of course, he doesn’t know, stupido! I’m trying to not ruin our friendship.

“Don’t call me stupido, and how do you know it would?”

Alberto threw the ball of dough down on the wood surface with more force than necessary, the surrounding flour splattering like snowballs after the season’s first snowfall.

“I just know, é tutto.”

They worked in silence for a while, taking turns with switching pans from the clay oven and glazing sweet rolls with fruit jellies and powdered sugar. When the sun was beginning to set everything on fire, its orange gaze turning the sweet rolls into apricot imitations, Ciccio’s mother brought warm cider and a platter of buttered bread. Alberto liked Ciccio’s mother, she was as warm as the bread she baked and her personality as strong and opinionated as the spices she used. Bella shared the same round features as her son, with a strong nose and bowed lips that were quick to smile. Ciccio once explained to Alberto that he and his mother got their strong noses and blonde hair from Bella’s German heritage, but it wasn’t something they spoke openly about.

Today, Signora Bella’s smile was strained, but it had lost none of its warmth. Alberto knew that meant either some customers had been more difficult than others or some pastries hadn’t turned outright. He recoiled at the thought of her being disappointed in anything he’d done.

“Come va tutto, ragazzi?” She lovingly patted Ciccio’s halo of curls and squeezed Alberto’s shoulder with a large hand. “It’s smelling really good in here. Ah, che bello!” She motioned to the cooling racks on Ciccio’s right. The sweet rolls and scored bread glistened perfectly in the afternoon light and the Signora’s words made Alberto glow as well.

“If you keep this up, Alberto, I may have to bribe Massimo to let me keep you all year long,” she teased. Alberto could only shrug nonchalantly, hoping his pride didn’t show.

“How did the sales go, mama?” Ciccio asked cheerfully, taking a large bite from his buttered bread. Alberto watched nervously, eating his own snack at a slower pace, his stomach suddenly feeling as if hermit crabs were marching and pinching at his insides.

Bella waved the questions away, her mouth pulling sourly at the edges. “Bah, Signor Tafani nearly scared away my customers this morning with his complaining. That man is never satisfied.” She sniffed dismissively. Alberto’s fingers began to pick at the bread, the smaller crumbs slipping from his lap.

“Was there something wrong with the baked goods?” He managed to ask, focusing on Bella’s crocifissione that hung around her neck. The older woman’s hand rested over Alberto’s, pausing the destruction of his bread.

“As I said, piccolo, he is never satisfied. No matter how perfect the bake is,” Her smile was small but firm and it made the hermit crabs release their pinching in his stomach. “God help that poor man’s wife.” Bella sighed heavily as she heaved herself to her feet.

“Ora,” she stood and clapped her hands together and both Alberto and Ciccio swallowed their bread quickly, the butter coating Alberto’s mouth with salt and cream. “Alberto, will you be staying for dinner?”

Alberto’s mouth watered at the thought; the signora’s food was always amazing, rich in seasonings and filled with love. Not to mention Ciccio’s father would usually play his guitar and serenade his family with music and singing. If he drank enough wine, Massimo would usually join in and the resulting cacophony would leave the rest of the family in tears and howls of laughter. Outwardly, the curly-haired teen hesitated, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

“I don’t know Signora, I don’t want to leave Massimo hanging…”

“Bah, but of course he is invited as well, what do you think telefoni are for?”

“To make long distances seem short.” Ciccio supplied cheekily, earning an inconspicuous kick from Alberto. Signora Bella gave her son a bemused look.

“Si, mio figlio, for that too…” deciding that it was safer to not question the odd antics of teenaged boys, Bella left to call Massimo and prepare dinner.

When she was out of sight, Alberto gruffly shoved Ciccio in the side, earning him a loud laugh.

“I think I preferred it when you were trying to hunt me,” he groaned miserably. Ciccio merely grinned.

“It’d be hard to catch a fish that’s already been caught.” Alberto kicked him harder in answer.

28 Aprile 1970

“You want me to start applying already?”

The headmaster grinned expectantly at Luca.

“Ma certo, Luca! You’ve shown so much potential these past two years, which is even more impressive considering your, ahem, background.” The balding man stage whispered behind his hand. Luca could only stare in confusion.

“Why are you whispering, we’re the only ones here?” Signore Bonetti flushed red for a moment, his thin lips disappeared under his obnoxiously large mustache as he frowned.

“It doesn’t matter,” he waved his hand away, his smile returning instantly. “What matters, mio caro ragazzo is that you could have the opportunity for great things.”

“Bene, I don’t know, Signore Bonetti.”

“You don’t know.” The signore’s mustache quivered as he peered at the curly-haired youth before him. Luca shrugged awkwardly under his gaze, feeling a nervous trickle of sweat make its way down the back of his neck.

“I still have two years here and I have to consider prices as well. Moreover, I would like to discuss future possibilities with my family first.” He offered what he hoped to be a placating smile at the headmaster.

“All the more reason to start now,” Signore Bonetti pressed, his hands inching university pamphlets across the oak desk. “Signora Castello has already agreed to help write your application letters along with several recommendations from our staff. And, I should add that we’ve had a growing handful of universities reach out with interest once I sent a copy of your grades.”

Luca sighed internally, he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be escaping this conversation without some sort of agreement.

“How many universities would accept a full-grown sea monster into their halls, Signore Bonetti?” Luca asked bluntly. Thin lips open and closed in an “o” shape. The mustache covering the top half of his mouth reminded Luca of an octopus who couldn’t quite catch its food. He decided to keep that thought to himself.

“Actually, quite a few would be ecstatic, if you were willing to supply their science departments with some information.”

Luca clasped his hands to keep them from shaking. “I will not be some science project that is locked away and never seen again.” He said firmly.

The headmaster quickly backpedaled, “No, no of course not! We would never allow-”

“I’ve seen what humans do to those they consider different. Fear is a powerful, if uneducated, weapon. If I am to go to any university, I do not want them to know about my…background, as you say.” Luca smiled condescendingly.

The bald man paled, his eyes round with shock.

“No, mio ragazzo, I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Bene, if that is everything, I need to head back to class.” Luca stood, he considered the colorful papers on the desk before grabbing the lot and turning towards the door. Signore Bonetti stuttered a farewell to his retreating figure. He didn’t look back.

“What’s got you looking so glum, chum?” Dante’s question sprayed crumbs everywhere, much to the rest of the group’s disgust. Luca glared up at his large friend, dusting the rejected food off of his copy of ‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’.

“Is it really that hard to swallow first then speak, Castello?” Luisa asked, her cupid bow lips curled in distaste.

Dante rubbed a large hand across his face, dispelling a few straggling crumbs from his mouth. Without saying anything, he stared challengingly into Luisa’s eyes and took a larger bite of a dinner roll, the crumbs falling to their doom. Luisa scoffed and turned back to braiding Giulia’s red locks in intricate patterns. Giulia hadn’t said much during their lunch hour, and if Luca had to guess, he would wager having Luisa sit so close with her hands combing through her hair had something to do with it.

They were currently sat outside on the campus grounds, good weather permitting it. Around them, other students sat on benches or laid out on the grass, soaking up the weak rays of spring sunshine. Today, Luisa brought an intricate blanket that they all rested on, with Luca lying on his stomach and Dante munching beside him sitting cross-legged. A very flushed Giulia sat leaning back so that Luisa could access her hair easily.

Dante made to speak again, but Luca interrupted him. “I’ll tell you if you promise to keep your mouth shut and your food inside it.” The larger teen rolled his sky-blue eyes in annoyance but didn’t say anything, much to everyone’s relief.

“The headmaster wants me to start applying to universities.” Luca started, immediately his friends turned to him, their expressions matching.

“Cosa?!” Their table received several odd looks from the surrounding students who were simply trying to enjoy their meals.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Apparently, there are universities already showing interest in me.”

“You don’t think they know about, ya know.” Giulia mimicked swimming, wincing when Luisa yanked her head back into place so she could continue braiding.

“I honestly don’t know, I told Signore Bonetti I don’t want universities to know about it, I didn’t think to ask if he’d already brought it up.” Luca allowed his head to rest heavily against the pages of his book. Up close, the letters were indiscernibly blurry.

“I’ve never heard of a sophomore applying for university before, my mom has never allowed it. Have you been getting tens this whole time?” Dante looked at him incredulously. A red flush crept its way up Luca’s neck.

“That and a few extra-curricular.” He mumbled. Who knew joining the swim team and being the chess club captain would be so impressive?

“Aspettare, why aren’t you happy? Isn’t this a good thing?” Luisa intervened, her honey eyes never leaving her work.

“I dunno, I’m worried about more people finding out, and then there’s Alb- my family, I don’t want to make any decisions without them.”

Giulia shot him a look through her curtain of hair, he responded by nudging her foot with his book. They hadn’t spoken much since that incident happened, something that Luca wasn’t eager to change.

“Ya know, I’ve heard my mom talk about these exchanges that universities will offer to promising students for a few weeks.” Dante tapped his lips thoughtfully. “You’d have to wait until the summer after next to do it, but that would allow you the chance to experience college life without the full commitment.”

“Veramente?” Luca felt a flicker of hope and excitement flicker in his stomach.

“Yeah, take a few classes, sleep in one of the dorms, meet your professors, etc. That kind of stuff.” Dante waved his hand nonchalantly, “You know my mom would be happy to help, it’s her job, but, like, she reaaally likes you. So, instant win.” He popped a cherry tomato into his mouth.

The bell sounded, causing the group of teens to quickly finish what they were doing. With a hum of contentment, Luisa tied Giulia’s hair and helped the other girl to her feet. Dante and Luca helped wrap the blanket up neatly, being sure to shake out any remains of Dante’s lunch. The group split into two and headed to their respective classrooms with the promise to meet after school per usual. Luca’s last two classes of the day were physics and music, and he hurried towards his physics class which rested resentfully on the other side of the school.

As he passed a darkened alcove, his ears picked up the sounds of muffled giggles and whispers. He slowed down against his better judgment and peered around the corner of faded, blue lockers that lined the walls. Two boys, at least a year older than him, were leaning against each other in the darkened hallway. The tall, lanky blonde Luca recognized from the group of teens that Luisa had soaked near the beginning of the school year. The shorter brunette was unrecognizable, especially with him facing away from Luca and most of his body being overshadowed by Lanky.

He knew he was interrupting a private moment, but Luca couldn’t find it within himself to look away. Lanky leaned down and began to gently press kisses to Brunette’s neck who laughed breathlessly in response. Luca felt his stomach flip at the sight, and if he gripped his books harder than necessary, well, that was nobody else’s business. He wondered if Alberto would kiss him like that, or if he would prefer to have his own neck pressed with gentle ministrations. The thought made him sigh forlornly and rest his head non too gently on the lockers before remembering he wasn’t alone. The two boys jerked apart as if burned but Luca was already turning the corner at the end of the hallway before either could see him.

03 Maggio 1970

“Finalmente!” Luisa exclaimed, slumping against her towel in the sand. Luca could only continue to itch at his skin, flakes peeling off and leaving red scores wherever his nails scraped. Next to him, Dante was already removing his clothing, the pale moonlight making his skin glow like marble. The tall Italian hid a yawn behind his hand, his eyelids still struggling to carry their own weight. Due to both Luca and Luisa being sea monsters, it was agreed that they couldn’t attend the beach during the day where people might see them. Thus, it had become a monthly ritual for midnight swims since Luca’s first year in Genoa. With the weather being too cold during the winter, Luca had to settle for long soaks in Signora Mia’s bath.

However, this time around his skin had felt particularly itchy, and transforming during his morning showers had revealed new scales pushing underneath his older ones. He had panicked and ran from the bathroom with nothing but a towel and a shriek. After a rushed phone call with his mother, Luca learned about the extra joys of growth spurts and puberty.

“You’re going to have to swim daily to help your body push out the old scales,” his mother explained in her matter-of-fact way. “Your tail fins especially will need the help and they’re also going to be the sorest.” Daniela’s voice turned sympathetic. “Just a few weeks more and then you’ll be home, we can help manage it from there.”

So, for the past week, Luca with his trio of friends would all pile into Mia’s small, bright yellow Fiat and drive the half-hour to the ocean at three in the morning. Without a second thought, he was in the water, pushing through briny waves allowing the ocean to peel scales away with gentle brushes. His mother had been right, his tail was instantly sore once it unfurled in the waves. The spines along his fins were growing longer and sharper, their bases pink with tender new skin. Luca did his best to stretch his body gently in the dark waters, taking brief breaks to check his location in comparison to everyone else on the beach. The signora could be seen snoring loudly on her quilt and Dante was doing his best impression of a starfish, his face mashed into the corner of the quilt. The only two who weren’t passed out were Giulia and Luisa, who appeared to be in serious conversation near the water’s edge.

Luca dove back into the cool depths, the water burned his eyes in a barely noticeable way, and he wondered if it was because more tourists visited Genoa in comparison to Porto Rosso. There were also fewer fish here, although a stray school of fish could be found here or there. He felt a familiar tug in his chest at the thought of Porto Rosso’s waters. The year was finally coming to an end, with finals taking place for the next few weeks, and then Giulia and he would be heading home. Luca grinned freely as he thought about Alberto again, the tug growing stronger in his chest the more he thought about him. He wanted so badly to talk to his friend about his newfound feelings, but there was also the risk of losing Alberto over said feelings. And then there was the decision of attending university in two years, who knew what could happen during that time? The fifteen-year-old groaned in frustration, sending a burst of bubbles to the surface. A smoothhound shark swam past him, appearing to roll its eyes at his dramatics. Luca stuck his tongue out in defense, not willing to argue with a shark at the moment.

When he rolled onto the beach with a swell, the sun was beginning to crest over the ocean’s face. Giulia and Luisa both nodded to him, neither having moved from their spot on the sand.

“Did you want to swim a bit before we head back?” Luca asked Luisa, already knowing the answer. The Sicilian girl smiled gently at his offer before shaking her head in a negative.

“Is it a self-conscious thing because I totally get that. But just to be very clear, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Luca balked at Giulia’s sudden boldness. The redhead in question looked at him as if to ask why he’d let her say that her face turning the same shade as her locks. “Sorry,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around her knees. “that was too much.”

Luisa had the most genuine smile on her face that Luca had seen in their entire time together. She wrapped arms the color of caffè around Giulia, pressing her grin into her shoulder.

“You’re too cute, Giulietta.”

Giulia looked dazed out of her mind, her face the definition of a satellite that had gone to space and made no motion of returning to earth.

Pulling away, Luisa’s expression turned carefully neutral, and she appeared to be at war with something in her thoughts. As the sun began to pour its warm rays along the sandy shores of Genoa, the young sea monster seemed to come to terms with something. Sighing, she gracelessly flopped forward and began to push her fingers deep beneath the sand’s surface.

“When I was really small, I was taken from my parents by fishermen.” Luisa began slowly, “I was sold to a Circo da baraccone in Napoli, and I was their star of the show. The circus was filled with other people who had anomalies, like me. For the most part, they were really nice.”

“For the most part?” Luca asked quietly. He suddenly felt oddly cold, even with the rays drying his skin.

“Our… master,” Luisa bared her teeth at the word, “was not kind. He wanted perfection instantly and he was very greedy, he barely met our basic needs for food and water. Instead, he would spend money on alcohol and parties with powerful people.” Luisa traced vicious lines through the sand, contrasting light and dark with her fingers.

“When he was particularly ubriaco, he would wake us up at all hours of the night and run through shows with us. Every time we would make a mistake, he would use his whip.” Her fingers stopped. “I was just seven years old.” She whispered.

Beside her, Giulia had become rigid, her face pale and her cheeks were glistening with tears.

“One night, he was more violent than usual, and he knocked over a lantern. The whole circus went up in flames. In all the chaos, my tank broke and I was afraid I would die without water, I’d never made the change before. When I realized I could breathe, it didn’t matter because the fire was too big by that point. The smoke and heat were everywhere, and I couldn’t run.

“But then, Marta came back for me.” Luisa gave a small smile and finally met their stricken gazes.

“She carried me to safety, and we escaped together, never once looking back.”

“Is that what brought you here to Genoa?” Giulia’s voice shook, though she tried to hide it. Luisa turned to her and laced their fingers together and they both held on tightly.

“No, I was only nine. Marta tried to help me find my parents, but I couldn’t remember where I had been taken from and I couldn’t find other sea monsters near Napoli. Actually,” she finally looked at Luca, “you’re the first one I’ve encountered in all these years.”

“I’m sorry,” Luca murmured. Luisa raised her eyebrows in question.

“Don’t be,” She answered easily, though her voice caught, “for the first time, in a long time, I have hope.”

“Anyways,” she continued, “we moved to Sicily to avoid recognition and Marta did what she could to teach me how to be a human, including teaching me my letters and numbers. Eventually, she was able to enroll me into a school.” Here, she frowned.

“I didn’t mean to reveal myself, but there was an accident with water, and I changed. I escaped school, which wasn’t hard to do when everyone is afraid of you. Marta and I fled here and changed our names, she’s sacrificed for me so much and I feel terrible about it.” Tears began to leave pink scale marks over her skin.

“No,” Luca corrected gently. He shared a look with Giulia, and wordlessly they embraced the weeping teen. “You did what you had to to survive. And there is no guilt or shame in that.” Luisa sobbed harder, years of heartache bleeding out and dampening the crystals of sand. They stayed that way until there was no guilt left.

#a te che sei il mio grande amore #luca fanfiction #queer fanfiction #luberto #luberto fanfiction #luca paguro #alberto scorfano #giulia is tired of this sh!t #giulia marcovaldo #giulia x oc #ocs #my ocs #my fanfic #there’s one brain cell and she has it most of the time #mutual pining #long distance relationship #disney fanfiction #pixar fanfiction

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catboydogma · 3 years

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Tell me more about the space opera bullshit 👀

MADDIE I HOPE U KNOW I WOULD DO LITERALLY ANYTHING FOR U. HOMICIDE? CHECK. ARSON? CHECK. LARCENY? CHECK. HOME BAKING? DOUBLE CHECK.

be prepared this is long and i have a tendency to Ramble and when i say this is the Real Self Indulgent Shit i rly mean it!!

ok so essentially

> be me

> watch tcw

> be angry about japanese imperialization and the subsequent blending of chinese, korean, and japanese cultures (especially when americans think of the three)

> make space korea (kahal)

technically it's like. ok well it could just work in really any setting but it works BEST in medieval / space opera (star wars) and there are specific uhh ways it slots into the star wars universe because u know. go big or go home? it DOES have elements of chinese and japanese culture (mainly in the fashion of the upper castes) but mostly bc u know. Space Colonisation

so ESSENTIALLY there's This Guy and his name is sepehr fainn but he prefers to go by "blue" (or "sek" in kahali, his mother tongue, which also means blue) which is partially bc 1) when he was in the kahali military, he had blue-lacquered armor and 2) he dyes his hair THEE most obnoxious shade of blue to ever exist. i make a lot of picrews of him but it's difficult because he has a lot of non-euro features bc he's the space equivalent of half-korean, half-egyptian and has VERY curly hair so it's usually shaved short on the sides and back and in lots of long, skinny braids on the top and let me tell you. the true test of a picrew's range is whether or not you can make that hairstyle!

long story short, the space opera bullshit wip is blue as the general of the fifth systems army of the GAR because i wanted to write a jedi oc and i wanted to write clone ocs and in the name of efficiency i did both in one go (and also there's no one cited as the leader of the 5th systems army and it's described as a skeleton army and u know what that is the PERFECT setup for this guy)

long story LONG--bullet point backstory bc i don't talk nearly enough abt this guy 8)

- has the most massive mommy issues in existence

- short king (5'7)

- ex-assassin, ex-soldier. see kahal USED to operate in castes (for a couple centuries spanning the time between the two kahali civil wars) and blue was born into the military caste. kahali soldiers operate on the basis of quality over quantity and are essentially highly trained assassins from birth but this is Not a good process

- so blue is born with the force (this is rare in the military caste; kahali does have force wielders, but they almost solely belong to the elite upper caste)

- his mom sends him to the jedi temple in coruscant to learn how best to utilize the force. while there, blue learns about the power of love and friendship, returns to kahal at the young and tender age of 17, and proceeds to overthrow the state with his friends

- returns to coruscant to finish his training, serves as the liaison (along with a few others) between the republic and kahal, which largely remains neutral but has a VERY strong anti-slavery + anti-colonialism stance because Old History Reasons

- general of the 421st and his second is clone commander shrike :)

- other ocs that are kahali that i've probably talked about: kalausi kakudsi, arichizi alttari, mahasim mahsati, formosa fuyue, hassaleh hezeri (blue's padawan!), zhelan nox, adeth del, and the endless parade of leithar nenzes (blue's best friend is 27)

- fun fact! most upper caste names (the long ones) are the names of stars / constellations in other languages :)

- yellow lightsaber but also favors a pair of deer horn knives

#sepehr fainn #thank u sm :))))) for enabling me :)))))))#kahal #asks #asks get answered #space opera bullshit

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thatbanjobusiness · 3 years

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Bluegrass is in a fascinating period now. Me entering the genre in 2019 has been a bizarre experience of just-barely-missing-the-pioneers, but feeling the impacts of their lives everywhere. How do you experience a genre where only barely have its creators left the earth?

As of now, 2021, the genre is 75 years old. The period considered first-generation bluegrass was during the mid to late 1940s and through the 1950s. First-generation bluegrass musicians were born around the 1910s and 1920s. This means the creators, influencers, and patriarchs of the genre have all passed away... but many haven’t been dead long. Father of Bluegrass Bill Monroe died in 1996. The man whose banjo revolutionized the instrument’s style of playing, Earl Scruggs, died in 2012. Curly Seckler, one of the greatest tenors, known for being in Flatt & Scruggs, died late December 2017. And one of the big singers, Mac Wiseman, passed away February 24, 2019.

Many of these men performed concerts until shortly before their death. I literally missed them by a hair’s breadth.

So while the first-generation players are dead, endless musicians who played in their bands still live and perform. There’s a strong amount of respect for the pioneers in bluegrass culture. People talk about the progenitors and keep their legacy, history, and importance alive. So even though I missed Bill Monroe, even though I missed all of them because I got into the genre ten years too “late,” I’m still in this odd period where the creators remain extremely relevant and personal.

It’s personal, one human telling another about a funeral they attended not too long ago, and how many memories they shared together in person.

During the bluegrass festival I just attended, several performers described their experience working as Blue Grass Boys for Bill Monroe. Del McCoury mentioned the songs he wrote with Bill Monroe before performing them to us. Peter Rowan mentioned co-composition credits, and went on a ramble about how their bus broke down in Kentucky. Folks still sit onstage telling stories of the genre’s creator. There’s artists doing impressions for the audience, imitating Bill’s high-pitched inflectional mannerisms, quoting his weird way of saying things. Mr. Monroe is very much living first-hand through all the men who worked in his band.

At the same time, bluegrass has heavily modernized. It’s hardly the road the pioneers paved. Second-generation musicians during the Folk Revival in the 1960s and 1970s brought new flavors. They experimented with modern sounds and pulled new demographics into the genre. Rural, culturally conservative Southerners intermixed with Vietnam-protesting urban longhairs. But the creators of bluegrass were all alive, active, and remained important.

Now it’s the 2020s and we’ve hit further generations beyond that. Bluegrass has continued to modernize and pull in wildly different influences and sounds. Many of the ideas being brought in are cool musical expansions, but technically are at odds with the ideas and musical values of the first generation. For instance: while bluegrass always emphasized virtuosity, the first generation played with melody-centric simplicity, songs laypersons could sing to. Increasingly, bluegrass is “gentrified” with complicated chords, materials, and breaks emphasizing technicality instead of melodicity. Depending on what you prefer, you might find hip fans only familiar with modern stuff who know nothing about the creators, or you’ll find audience members grumbling, “That’s not bluegrass!” to your left with scowls and crossed arms.

Bluegrass is a genre inherently at war with itself because it is a crossroads of progressive and traditional musical concepts. It is equally both. From Bill Monroe’s years, it married folk tunes with trendy compositions; it used the traditional fiddle and banjo set-up but revolutionized how the banjo was used; it innovated new techniques on instruments while maintaining "the old tones.” So from the folk side, it’s easy to hear modern bands and debate whether they’ve strayed “too far” from bluegrass. But from the progressive side, for a genre that was built off musical creatives constructing new methods of playing... it makes sense today’s performers have built upon the innovative spirit.

So I’m at a crossroads now with the stories, the tradition, the experiences of who has and has not KNOWN the patriarchs. This isn’t Classical music where no one living today has met Beethoven and he’s a concretely historic figure. I see bands who play as far from Bill Monroe as you could get, but twenty minutes later on the same stage hear musicians talk first-hand how much their relationship with Bill Monroe molded their lives. Announcements of other big giants dying seems to come every day... there were tributes to guitarist Tony Rice and fiddler Byron Berline at the festival.

It’s both the past and not the past. It’s interchange, it’s transition. It’s a musical world still adjusting to its heroes gone.

#long post #thatbanjobusiness #that banjo business #Country Music History #Haddock Deep Dives #bluegrass #General Banjo Business

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delta-piscium · 7 months

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they should invent an ability to sleep that isn’t limited edition

#all i want in life is to have an on/off button for sleeping and waking up #i am tired my eyes have been closed to so long yet i am awake #the silliest thing in the world yet it’s so devastating #a therapist telling me most people fall asleep within 15 minutes and i’m so sucpicous of that because i’ll lay so still with my eyes closed #for hours without sleeping wdym people fall asleep in 15 minutes???#dels endless rambles

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per-ineptia-ad-astra · 5 years

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Star Trek Episode 1.21: The Return of the Archons

AKA: In Star Trek, Neural Network Trains You

Our episode begins with two men running frantically down a deserted, old-fashioned-looking street. The men look a bit old-fashioned themselves, wearing tall boots, waistcoats and tricorne hats, but when one of them trips and falls we see that the other one, stopping to help him up, is Sulu. In and of itself I wouldn’t find this terribly surprising since I just assume 19th-century themed LARPing is the kind of thing Sulu does on his days off, but they both look pretty freaked, so there’s probably something else going on here.

“O’Neil, we’ve got to keep going,” Sulu says, but O’Neil’s feeling a bit less plucky about the situation. “It’s no use, they’re everywhere!” he bemoans as the two of them back up against what appears to be a store window, albeit one completely empty of any merchandise. The desperate urgency of this statement is somewhat undercut by the fact that the camera then shows us all of one person, an anonymous figure wearing a brown hooded robe and carrying a big metal rod, pursuing them down the otherwise empty street. I say ‘pursuing’ but really, it’s more of a mosey than anything.

“Captain gave us an order! We’ve got to find some clue!” Sulu admonishes O’Neil, but O’Neil only reiterates that “It’s no use!” Then he points out another hooded figure approaching from a different direction. Oh, there’s two of them? Oh, well, I stand corrected. You’re definitely screwed.

[ID: An empty street with a large, old stone building at one end, in front of which a single figure in a brown hooded robe is standing.]

ahhhhh the endless hordes ohhhh nooooo

While Sulu and O’Neil are standing around waiting patiently to be cornered by the slowly advancing figures, Sulu kills some time by calling the ship to get them beamed up. Specifically, he calls the bridge, gets Kirk, and tells Kirk they need to be beamed up so that Kirk can then call the transporter room and tell them that the landing party needs to be beamed up, because just calling the transporter room directly might actually have gotten them out of there in time. Naturally, as soon as the situation calls for them to stay where they are so they can get beamed out, O’Neil immediately changes his mind and decides that actually he’d quite like to run away. Sulu yells after him desperately, but it’s no use; O’Neil has scarpered, leaving Sulu to face the approaching figure alone. The very slowly approaching figure.

Despite Sulu’s heroic last stand (heavier on the ‘stand’ than the ‘heroic,’ it must be said), one of the hooded figures manages to reach him, threateningly raising the big length of metal pipe they’re carrying to...gently tap him on the shoulder with it. Evidently this has more serious effects than Sulu being declared It now, because there’s an ominous sound effect and Sulu goes rigid for a moment. Then his expression turns into a blank, empty grin just as he finally gets beamed up.

Upon arrival, our still-grinning navigator staggers somewhat drunkenly on the transporter pad as Kirk hurries in, wanting to know what’s going on, and where’s O’Neil? Yeah, Mr. Transporter Man, where is O’Neil? This need for people to remain perfectly still for the transporter to lock on to them has rather suddenly come out of nowhere, considering a few episodes ago they were able to pluck a man flying a jet fighter out of the sky with no trouble. O’Neil might have run off pretty quick but I rather doubt he was traveling faster than an F-104. Damn thing must be on the fritz again.

Neither Sulu nor the transporter operator answer Kirk’s questions. Sulu just looks at him dreamily and says, “What? Who?” I don’t know what the transporter operator’s excuse is. Then Sulu looks a little more focused (it’s a very low bar) and says, “You’re not of the Body.”

At this point Kirk quite sensibly decides to ctrl-alt-del this entire conversation and just calls for McCoy to get down here pronto. Meanwhile, Sulu has rounded on a nearby blueshirt who’s just hanging out in the transporter room for some unknown reason, and starts yelling, “You, you did it! They knew we were Archons. These are the clothes they wear, not these!” (So, are you saying those clothes were...anarchonistic?) Then he throws his tricorne at the blueshirt and starts taking off his coat for good measure, because taking off his clothes is just how Sulu reacts to being under alien influences. This time he doesn’t get quite as far as in The Naked Time, though, getting distracted partway through by some thought that makes him look up to the ceiling and start grinning again while saying, “Landru...Landru...”

Kirk manages to get Sulu to sit down on the transporter pad and attempts to pry some kind of useful information out of him, but all he gets is some rambling about how “They’re wonderful, the sweetest people in the universe...” and “It’s paradise, my friend.”

McCoy gets there in the middle of this and reacts about how you’d expect.

[ID: McCoy raising an eyebrow and glancing to the side in bewilderment while saying “da fuck.”]

“Sulu, where’s O’Neil?” Kirk asks once again.

“Paradise...” Sulu says happily.

We never get to find out what McCoy considers to be the appropriate medical response to this situation, because at that point the scene cuts to the titles. Afterward we get a captain’s log to shed a very small amount of light on the situation:

“While orbiting planet Beta 3 trying to find some trace of the starship Archon that disappeared here a hundred years ago, a search party consisting of two Enterprise officers were sent to the planet below. Mr. Sulu has returned, but in a highly agitated mental state. His condition requires I beam down with an additional search detail.”

I don’t know if I would call that agitated, per se. It’s sort of the opposite of agitated, really. But never mind that, let’s talk about the fact that the Enterprise has been sent to investigate the whereabouts of a ship that vanished a century ago. At that point we’re well past there being any chance of actually helping any survivors and into ‘historical mystery’ territory. Sure, it’d be good to find out what happened, but was there really not anything of higher priority for the Enterprise, of all ships, to be doing? This is like telling an active Navy cruiser to stop everything and go look for the USS Cyclops. (Look it up.)

Well, Archon or no Archon, there’s clearly something weird going on here and whatever it is ate our best navigator’s brain, so there’s only one thing to do: send even more critical personnel down right into the middle of it to check it out. So Kirk, Spock, McCoy and three other dudes we don’t know beam down all dolled up in what could be called period dress as long as you don’t ask too many questions about exactly what period it is. Special shout-out to Spock, who’s chosen to hide his ears in the most conspicuous manner possible:

[ID: A landing party of six men assembled in two rows on an old-fashioned city street. In the front stand McCoy, wearing a a gray suit with a black bolo tie and carrying a medical case; Kirk, wearing a dark blue coat over suit pants, a patterned gray waistcoat, and a black bolo tie; and Spock, wearing a black knee-length cloak with a square hood over gray suit pants and dress shoes. In the back row are three more crewmembers wearing similar clothing.]

SPOCK SMOCK SPOCK SMOCK SPOCK SMOCK

Incidentally, if any of these streets and buildings look familiar, it’s because the exterior of the town was filmed at RKO 40 Acres, the same multi-purpose backlot that provided the set for Miri, which you may recall also served as the town of Mayberry in The Andy Griffith Show. It kinda makes me wonder if the Andy Griffith crew ever got annoyed at the Star Trek crew for trashing their town multiple times.

As the party gets their bearings, a man holding one hand to his chest wanders past, apparently too busy staring dreamily into the distance to take any notice of the new arrivals. Spock and Kirk take immediate notice of how much this resembles the state Sulu was in. “If everyone on this planet is like him...” Kirk muses, but doesn’t bother giving us the end to that sentence. Probably it wasn’t supposed to be “...then where can I get some?” but that’s the first thing to come to mind.

They head off down the street, and soon encounter another local wearing the same vacant expression, and also a bowler hat. This one actually stops and addresses them, though, saying, “Joy to you, friends,” with the hand-on-chest gesture the first guy was doing. Well, when in Rome, etc, so Kirk also puts his hand on his chest and replies, “Joy to you,” while behind him Spock chimes in with a distinctly half-hearted attempt at the same gesture.

The local continues, “You be strangers. Come for the festival, are ya?” For some reason the actor here has chosen to go with the most goofily over-enunciated accent he could possibly manage. It sticks out like a sore thumb because no one else in the town sounds remotely like that; they tend to sound a bit spacey, but nothing more than that. Indeed, I’m quite sure that no real existing human being has ever naturally sounded like this dude. But hey, I guess that’s one way to make your five minutes of screen time memorable.

Kirk’s happy to go with this conveniently offered explanation for their presence. Sure! Festival! Definitely! That is definitely why we are here, absolutely.

The guy then asks if they have a place to “sleep it off” yet. When Kirk shakes his head, the guy suggests they go find the house of someone called Reger. “He’s got rooms...but you’ll have to hurry. It’s almost the Red Hour.” Oh, that sounds...fun.

Sure enough there’s a clock on the nearby building reading about two minutes to six, which is barely enough time to put directions to Reger’s house into Wayz, let alone to get there. Unfortunately the party is still trapped in the iron grip of small talk with a dude who clearly sees no reason whatsoever to draw any association between “you’ll have to hurry” and “now it’s time to stop casually chatting.” But that’s small towns for you. I have occasionally come pretty close to having to gnaw my own arm off to escape conversations at the library check-out desk, and were meteors to start falling outside I would not expect the lady scanning my books to speed up one little bit.

At that moment, a couple of women come drifting serenely down the sidewalk nearby, giving Bowler Hat the chance to rope even more people into the conversation. “Tula, these folks come for the festival,” he says to one of them. “Your daddy can put them up, can’t he?” Tula, who looks slightly less spacey than Bowler Hat (a low bar) asks if the party is from the valley. One of the three as-yet-anonymous crewmembers, eager to make a contribution, chimes in that they’ve just arrived. Sure is convenient that everyone around here only asks leading questions.

Tula says sure, her dad would be happy to put them up. But it’s too late: just as she says this, the clock begins tolling six. The effect on the town is immediate. Tula, Bowler Hat, and everyone else in sight break into a frenzy, screaming, throwing hats and gloves, hitting each other, breaking things, and generally rampaging like an Instant Angry Mob, Just Add Water. The stunned landing party run for cover while people go wild all around them. Unfortunately one of them does get beaned by a remarkably soft bit of debris in the process.

[ID: A gif showing the landing party, led by Kirk, running through a street while various debris gets thrown around. One piece hits one of the crewmen in the head, causing him to throw his hands up, but not stop running.]

They find a nearby building to run into, quickly close the door, and only then turn around to see three very confused older men standing there staring at them. Kirk apologizes for bursting in on them, explaining that they weren’t prepared for “this kind of a welcome.” One of the men asks if they’re strangers and Kirk says yes, they came from the valley and they’re here for the festival. This answer doesn’t seem to satisfy the men as well as it did Bowler Hat, though, because the speaker asks, “How come you here?” Before Kirk can try to answer this, one of the crewmembers (the same one who spoke before, of course; what, you think they could afford to have all three of them talk? Talking’s expensive!) asks if the guy is Reger. The guy says yes, and then confirms that Tula is his daughter. “Well you better do something!” the ‘shirt yells. “She’s outside!”

Reger, however, doesn’t look at all taken aback by this news, just sad. “I know,” he says. “It’s Festival. It’s the will of Landru.”

At that point, one of Reger’s companions interrupts, pointing out that these new strangers are “young men, not old enough to be excused.” Oh, that’s okay, we’ve got McCoy here, he can write everyone a quick doctor’s note. Reger points out that they’re visitors, but the other man isn’t about to be content with that. “Well, have they no lawgivers in the valley?” he demands. “Why be they not at the festival?”

Rather than attempt to navigate the weird backroads of this conversation any further, Kirk aims to distract by telling Reger that they heard he might have some rooms for them. Reger looks relieved at this. “You see, Hacom?” he tells the complaining man. “They’ve merely come looking for a place to rest afterwards.” Hacom is still not appeased: “The Red Hour has already struck!”

The third man steps in then and tries to help soothe Hacom, telling him that “the valley has different ways.” But Hacom’s got a good head of outrage built up by now and he’s not about to concede it for anyone. “Do you say that Landru is not everywhere?!” he demands, with much the same kind of self-righteous huffiness of a man bitching out a Starbucks barista for wishing him happy holidays instead of merry Christmas.

“No, of course not,” the third man says, still gamely trying to defuse things. “It’s simply that they have different ways.”

“They’ve come looking for shelter,” Reger says, with what he clearly hopes is a sense of finality. “Can I turn them away?”

He turns and makes as if to lead the landing party up the nearby stairs, but the concerned ‘shirt stops him and asks again about Tula. “She is in Festival, as you should be!” Hacom snaps. As Reger finally manages to get the landing party upstairs Hacom turns to the remaining man and says that “the Lawgivers should know.” He is distinctly not amused when the other man tries to point out that surely the Lawgivers already know since they’re infallible, which Hacom takes as mockery toward the Lawgivers. “The strangers are not of the Body!” he yells as he stalks outside in a huff. “You will see!”

Upstairs, Reger has taken the party to a room with several beds, where he putters around opening the windows (revealing that somehow, full dark has fallen in the five minutes or so that they’ve been inside) and saying that the group can come back there after Festival, when they’ll be in need of rest. Kirk tells him they have no intention of attending Festival. This leaves Reger stunned and confused, but not nearly as stunned and confused as he is a moment later when Kirk says that he’d like to know more about the Festival, and about this ‘Landru’ person. At that, Reger freaks out, slamming the window closed again and spluttering incoherently before finally managing to say “Well...you’re strange.” Then he tries to ask, “Are you...are you...” but can’t quite make it. Undaunted by this, Kirk asks about Landru once again, causing Reger to freak out even more.

Outside, meanwhile, it’s still total chaos. Things are on fire, people are screaming, the works. Special shout-out to the guy who just straight-up throws himself through an entire window.

[ID: A gif showing a man running past a glass window with a chair right before another man runs up and jumps through the window, shattering the glass.]

And now, the weather.

By the time we cut back to the landing party, some time seems to have passed, as Reger is absent and Kirk is busy brooding at the window. Having evidently seen enough, he turns back to the group and says, “My guess is we have until morning. Let’s put the time to good use.” He tells McCoy to take some readings to see if there’s anything in the air that might account for all this and Lindstrom—the ‘shirt who was concerned about Tula—to “correlate everything that you’ve seen with any other sociological parallels, if any.” Oh man, Lindstrom got the hard homework. Kirk then turns to Spock and says, “You and I have some serious thinking to do. When we leave here tomorrow, I want to have a plan of action.”

Apparently all that thinking really takes it out of you, because the next thing we see is the gas lamp by the door having burned out, while in the interim almost everyone has passed out on some piece of furniture or another. Kirk remains somewhat awake, leaning half-asleep against the post of the bunk bed with a blanket wrapped around him, while Spock is laying flat on his back on a top bunk with his hands on his chest and his eyes wide open like Dracula. I don’t know he’s awake or if that’s just how Spock sleeps. Could go either way.

Kirk meanders sleepily over to the window and looks out. The rioting is still going strong, even though the sun has risen and the town clock is reading a few minutes to six. As the clock strikes six a moment later, the people below all suddenly freeze where they are. Then they all begin to calmly meander off in different directions, the rioting over just as abruptly as it began.

Kirk goes to wake up/get the attention of Spock, then rouses Lindstrom and then McCoy, who’s fallen asleep in some kind of chair-bed thing. The silence is suddenly broken by the sound of a woman crying loudly downstairs, which accelerates the waking-up process considerably. Everyone hastens downstairs to see Reger holding Tula, who’s sobbing hysterically, while Reger’s friend from last night hovers awkwardly patting her on the shoulder and such. McCoy gently pulls Tula away into another room, and when Reger tries to follow Kirk stops him, saying, “He’ll give her a shot, it’ll calm her down. Trust us.” Yeah, Reger! Trust the total strangers to medicate your daughter! What could go wrong?

Lindstrom breaks in angrily, demanding to know what kind of father Reger is that he didn’t even attempt to rescue Tula last night. Reger helplessly says that it was Landru’s will. Lindstrom, I know you’re righteously angry right now, but there’s a thing called “making half an effort to blend in with the locals so they don’t cut your head off.” Here, let Kirk show you how it’s done.

[ID: Kirk standing slightly behind Reger, a concerned looking middle-aged white man with brown hair in a dark gray suit, and another, older white man with gray hair and a similar suit. Kirk is saying, “What about Landru? Who is he?”]

oh for fuck’s sake

“So it’s true then,” Reger’s friend says. “You didn’t attend the festival last night?” No, Kirk says. “Then you’re not of the Body,” Reger muses. “You couldn’t be...”

The two of them hurry off in consternation, and the rest of the party follows, into the side room where McCoy and Spock have taken Tula. Speaking of Tula, she’s now thoroughly passed out. Evidently McCoy wasn’t kidding around with that shot.

“Are you...are you Archons?” Reger asks Kirk.

“What if we are?” Kirk replies, smoothly sidestepping out of that minefield of a question.

“It was said more would follow,” Reger says uncertainly. “If you are indeed--”

“We must hide them, quickly,” his friend interrupts. “The Lawgivers--” Kirk tries to assure him that they can take care of themselves, but assured he is not. “Landru will know,” he says. “He will come.”

Turns out that wasn’t hyperbole, because all of about two seconds later, a couple of the same brown-hooded figures that were harassing Sulu and O’Neil come bursting into the room, metal rods at the ready.

[ID: The landing party along with Reger and his friend all assembled in an old-fashioned sitting room and looking towards the doors, which are flanked by two men wearing brown hooded robes and carrying tall metal rods.]

NOBODY EXPECTS THE LAWGIVER INQUISITION

Accompanying them is Hacom, the damn narc, who smugly proclaims that Reger’s friend has been mocking the Lawgivers, and also those punks over there didn’t attend Festival like good citizens. “Tamar. Stand Clear,” one of the Lawgivers intones at Reger’s friend, in a robotic and slightly reverb-y voice. Both Reger and Tamar look stricken, but after a moment Tamar slowly says, “I hear and obey the voice of Landru,” and steps out in front of Reger. The Lawgiver raises their Rod of Lordly Might and the end of it fizzles and pops like a handful of cheap sparklers, which is probably exactly what it was. Tamar collapses on the spot, dead.

As Reger and Kirk grab Tamar and gently lower him to the ground, the Lawgiver speaks again. “You. Attacked. The Body. You Have Heard The Word. And Disobeyed. You Will Be Exterminated Absorbed.”

“What do you mean, absorbed?” Kirk asks. I’m going to give you a tip for free here: if someone tells you “you will be absorbed” that is not the time to stand around asking questions. Get out of there and you can figure out the details later, cause one thing you can be sure of is that there is no scenario where that could possibly end up being a good thing.

Hacom immediately crows that this is proof the strangers are “not of the Body” but the Lawgivers don’t seem to pay him any attention. “You Will Be Absorbed,” Kirk is told. “The Good Is All. Landru Is Gentle. You Will Come.”

After the break, Kirk, still looking unimpressed by all this, tells the Lawgivers, “We’re not going anywhere.”

“It Is The Law,” the Lawgiver tells him. “You Must Come.”

“I said we’re not going anywhere,” Kirk repeats calmly, while Reger clings onto his arm with a look of absolute terror.

But instead of resorting to force, the Lawgivers turn to face each other and just stand there for a moment. “Evidently they’re not prepared to deal with outright disobedience,” Spock notes curiously. “How did you know?” Kirk replies that everything they’ve seen so far indicates that the people in this place have a compulsive stimulus of some kind towards actions beyond their control, so he banked on the Lawgivers not being able to deal with people who couldn’t just be ordered around. Absolutely nobody feels inclined to take advantage of this brief respite by, say, climbing out the convenient nearby window or anything.

Eventually the Lawgivers turn back to the party. “It Is Clear That You Simply Did Not Understand,” the speaking one says. “I Will Rephrase. You Are Ordered To Accompany Us To The Absorption Chambers.”

“Why did you kill that man?” Kirk demands.

“Out Of Order,” the Lawgiver says. “You Will Obey. It Is The Word Of Landru.”

“You tell Landru,” Kirk says, “that we’ll come in our own time and we’ll speak to him.” Then he grabs the Lawgiver’s staff and hands it to Spock, who starts poking around with it.

“You Cannot,” the Lawgiver says. “It Is Landru.”

At this point Hacom evidently loses his nerve and rushes out of the room, whimpering, “Landru!” Meanwhile, Spock observes that the Lawgiver’s staff is just an empty tube without any kind of mechanism inside it.

The Lawgivers have to stop and buffer once again, only this time they’re making a strange noise. “They’re communing,” Reger says. “We have time, come with me.” He can take them to a place where they’ll be safe, he says, but they have to hurry before Landru comes.

So he leads them outside, where he starts walking casually down the street, smiling and nodding and doing the ‘peace’ gesture at people as they pass. Kirk puts rather less effort into being surreptitious and keeps loudly talking to Spock while they make their way across town, asking him what he makes of all this weirdness. Unsurprisingly, Spock finds it all “totally illogical.” Yesterday, for no apparent reason, the entire town broke out into total havoc. “Yet today, now--” “--Now, they’re back to normal,” Kirk finishes. I mean, if you want to call that normal. Arguably the way they’re acting now is less normal than the rioting and screaming.

As they walk, Bowler Hat Man approaches them with a cheerful “Morning, friends.” Reger greets him back casually, but Lindstrom recognizes him and rushes up to Reger, saying, “Your daughter—that’s the man!” The man who...well, we didn’t see what happened, exactly, but we did see Bilar grab Tula while the whole town was breaking out in a wild frenzy, and the next time we saw Tula she was sobbing frantically, so...draw your own conclusions.

But Reger seems neither surprised nor upset by the accusation. “No, it wasn’t Bilar, it was Landru,” he says impatiently, before telling them all they need to hurry. Which is easier said than done—moseying and hurrying at the same time is a difficult proposition.

Despite their best efforts, the group hasn’t gotten much farther before Reger stops and says, “It’s too late—look!” For a moment it doesn’t look as if anything much has happened, but then the party realizes that everyone on the street has stopped dead in their tracks. It’s Landru, Reger says—he’s summoning the Body. Or, as Spock helpfully chimes in, “Telepathy, Captain.”

A moment later, the townspeople all start reaching down and picking up bits of the debris that’s littering the area. Specifically, the bits that are rather heavy and blunt, like bricks and bits of masonry and big sticks. Oh dear. “Phasers on stun,” Kirk says. Yeah, no kidding.

Abandoning the pretense of normality, Reger leads the group off at a jog down the street as the dead-eyed townspeople advance on them. It’s admittedly a bit creepy. There might not have been enough extras to sell the idea of an entire town in full riot, but there are enough to make a decent-sized mob. It’s just a shame they advance so very slowly. And that, when the party turns into an alley and sees more people coming up it from the other end, they just kind of stop and hang out there for a moment to let themselves get cornered, even though the rest of the mob isn’t nearly close enough behind them that they couldn’t just turn around and keep going in another direction.

[ID: The landing party and Reger huddled in a group at the mouth of an alley while a mob slowly approaches from several yards away.]

had a D&D game once that ended up remarkably like this

Kirk says he doesn’t want to hurt them, and tells Reger to warn them back, but Reger says “They’re in the Body, it’s Landru!” In other words, they’re possessed, and not about to listen to Reger or anyone. So the group has to fire on the townspeople approaching up the alleyway. Evidently Landru’s powers over people don’t extend to making them phaser-proof, because everyone hit by the beams drops where they stand, only for them to be immediately replaced by more townspeople in their wake. The whole ‘unstoppable zombie horde’ vibe is, again, unfortunately a bit diminished by a sheer lack of numbers—given the population of this town as we’ve seen it so far, and how slowly they move, the party could probably just easily stand there and keep firing until the whole town is unconscious. It’d probably take about five minutes, tops.

Also, one of the supposedly stunned townspeople rather noticeably catches himself on the way down.

[ID: A gif showing several townspeople at the end of an alley, all holding aloft various sticks and bits of debris, as a stun beam hits them, causing them to fall to the ground. A man in front catches himself with one hand and lowers himself the rest of the way.]

Despite my tactical advice, the crew decides to make a run for it down the alley after clearing away some of the mob, but as they’re on the move McCoy stops suddenly and kneels by one of the fallen men. It’s O’Neil. Evidently running didn’t turn out any better for him than standing still did for Sulu. Kirk tells Reger that this is one of their men, but Reger says that he isn’t, not anymore. “He’s one of them!” he cries. “Landru will find us through him! Leave him there, he’s our enemy, he’s been absorbed!”

Yeah, three guesses as to whether Kirk is about to leave one of his crewmembers laying unconscious and brainwashed in the path of a relentless mob, and the first two don’t count. One of the ‘shirts does point out, though, that now that they’ve found O’Neil they could go ahead and beam the heck outta this whole mess. Kirk says no, because they still haven’t found their answers about what happened to the Archons. I mean, sure, but...is that really more of a priority right now than escaping the mob that’s out for your blood, and getting to a safe space where you could regroup, tend to your unconscious party member, and question Reger without having to worry about some hooded jerks with big sticks bursting in on you at any time? Apparently it is, because a couple of people haul O’Neil off the ground and they all hurry off.

Exactly where Reger’s hiding place is we don’t get to find out, but evidently they get there alright, because the next thing we see is him pushing open a heavy stone door that leads into a distinctly dungeon-ish looking room. Everyone hurries inside, and Reger pushes aside an old bedframe to get to an alcove where someone’s left a big plastic square wrapped in heavy cloth. At least, it looks like a big plastic square, but Kirk identifies it as a lighting panel and it does, indeed, light up. “Amazing in this culture,” Spock comments. Yeah, it is a bit anachronistic next to the brazier over there.

Reger hangs it up on the wall to illuminate the room and says that it “comes from a time before Landru.” Asked just how long ago that was, he says that no one knows for sure, but some say it was as long as six thousand years ago. Six thousand years and it still works? Man, and I thought the Centennial Light was impressive.

Kirk has the two still-nameless ‘shirts go stand guard at the door while he and Spock muse over how weird it is that the lighting panel clearly came from a much more technologically advanced culture than the one currently occupying the place. Meanwhile, McCoy has had O’Neil brought over to what remains of the bed and is busy examining him. He gives Kirk an ‘in a minute’ gesture, so Kirk goes back to pacing and speculating, wondering if the Lawgiver’s rods might be some kind of antennae or broadcasting devices for transmitting the power of Landru in all its sparkly glory. Meanwhile, Spock is looking at his tricorder, which is apparently picking up “strong power generations...near here, but radiating in all directions.”

McCoy interjects to say that O’Neil will be coming around soon. “He must not!” Reger protests frantically. “He’s been absorbed!” This is followed by a dramatic chord and Kirk turning to Reger and going “Absorbed??” as if Reger didn’t already say the exact same thing twice back in the alley. I suppose he was a bit distracted at the time, but still.

“The Body absorbs its enemies,” Reger explains. “It only kills when it has to. When the first Archons came they were free, out of control, opposing the will of Landru. Many were killed, many more were absorbed. When he regains consciousness, Landru will find us through him. And if the others come--”

What others? Kirk asks. Reger explains that he means other people like him, who oppose Landru. They’re organized in threes—Reger was part of a cell consisting of him, Tamar, and one other person whom he doesn’t actually know, because Tamar was his contact. Evidently they’re doing the standard Resistance thing of limiting what individual members know in case they get captured, which is even more important when your adversary can control minds.

McCoy interrupts to say yeah that’s all great, but he needs a decision here, because O’Neil is coming out of it. Reger protests once again that O’Neil can’t be allowed to wake up, and Kirk mulls it over for a moment before telling McCoy, “Give him a shot. Keep him asleep.” Man, McCoy’s handing out sleepy shots left and right this episode. He must have a stash hidden in that waistcoat somewhere.

While McCoy does that, Kirk draws Reger over to a nearby table and says that he wants some answers. For one thing, if Landru’s so powerful, how is there a resistance movement at all? Reger doesn’t know how it happened, only that some people have escaped “the directives.” “It was that way when the first Archons came,” he adds.

Reger’s obviously not entirely clear on what was up with the Archons, understandably given that it was a hundred years ago and detailed history is probably hard to keep track of around here if you’re not part of the hivemind, but he says that “Landru pulled them down from the skies” and that they invaded the Body but at least in part resisted Landru’s will. Kirk gets interested in that first bit, interpreting it as Landru bringing down a starship. Spock confirms that the power readings he’s getting are over nine thousand powerful enough to destroy a starship. Kirk sure doesn’t like the sound of that, so he calls up the Enterprise to check up on how un-destroyed it is. The answer’s not real great: Scotty picks up and reports that the ship is under attack by “heat beams of some kind coming up from the planet’s surface.”

The shields are holding so far, but keeping them up is taking all of the ship’s power, so much so that if they can’t even move without being burned up. Oh, and the orbit is failing, because of course it is, you can’t keep an orbit going round here for anything. Although presumably they are still in an orbit right now, which begs the question of where these heat beams are coming from that they can stay locked onto the ship no matter which side of the planet it’s facing. I guess Landru really is everywhere. Anyway, if they can’t shake the heat beams long enough to use the engines, Scotty reports grimly, they’ve only got about twelve hours left before the orbit decays and they hit the atmosphere. Cool. Were you gonna like, call up and let the landing party know about this at some point, or…?

Kirk basically tells him to hang in there, since there’s not exactly much more that they can do, while the landing party works on taking out those heat beams at the source. Scotty starts to talk about how he tried the emergency bypass circuits, but they weren’t effective—they never are, I don’t know why he even bothers—but then he starts breaking up. Spock reports that he’s picking up some very strong sensor beams—something’s probing them, and it’s too strong for him to block it.

Just then, there’s a strange whirring noise, preceding the arrival of a holographic image (or, possibly, ghost) appearing against the wall. Specifically, it’s an image of a dude wearing a purple and pink-cape-toga-thing and looking incredibly smug for someone with no apparent arms.

[ID: A semi-transparent image being projected onto a stone wall, which shows a middle-aged white man with thick light brown hair, wearing a long purple robe over a black high-necked shirt, with a shiny pinkish-orange cape on top.]

“I am Landru,” the image announces.

Spock is unimpressed. “Projection, captain,” he announces. “Unreal.”

“But beautiful, Mr. Spock, with no apparatus at this end,” Kirk muses. I dunno, man, the pink cape thing is certainly a bold choice but I think ‘beautiful’ is a bit of a stretch.

“You have come as destroyers,” the projection of Landru continues, heedless of the commentary from the audience. “You bring an infection.” Kirk insists that Landru release the Enterprise, but Landru carries blithely on. “You have come to a world without hate, without fear, without conflict. No war, no disease, no crime. None of the ancient evils. Landru seeks tranquility. Peace for all. The universal good.” Yeah, it looked real peaceful and conflict-free last night.

Kirk tries to tell Landru that they mean no harm, and that theirs “is a mission of peace and goodwill.” (That’s why we brought phasers!) Landru just keeps talking about good transcending evil, etc, etc, until Spock points out that “He doesn’t hear you, Captain.” Honestly not sure if he means that Landru literally has no way to hear them or if he can hear them but just keeps right on monologuing anyway cause, y’know, we’ve all met That Dude.

“Maybe he’ll hear this!” Lindstrom says, charging forward with his phaser out. Oh yeah, great job there Lindy, let’s SHOOT the HOLOGRAM. Kirk tells Lindstrom to cut that shit out so he can get back to talking to Landru which, admittedly, is really doing just about as much good as shooting the wall would.

“You will be absorbed,” Landru says. “Your individuality will merge into the unity of good, and in your submergence into the common being of the Body, you will find contentment and fulfillment. You will experience...the absolute good.” See, I told you it wouldn’t mean anything good.

At this point, a high-pitched whirring noise that’s been steadily but mostly unnoticeably rising through the background music suddenly peaks, causing everyone to start clutching at their heads in pain. The two ‘shirts guarding the door are the first to drop to their knees, with the rest of the party succumbing quickly afterward.

What follows is a wonderful opportunity to observe several different styles of Slowly Passing Out. Nimoy looks like he’s going to go one way but then changes his mind and falls backward onto the table instead until he’s laying on his back looking up. Christopher Held (Lindstrom) takes the bold move of just falling straight to the ground in a dead drop, while Kelley, no fool he, is back there doing a complex maneuver involving hanging onto the bedpost to slow his own descent. Shatner, of course, goes for the most extra route possible, pitching forward onto the table while clutching his head and then slowly falling down into the chair. I give full marks to everyone except Harry Townes (Reger) who was already sitting down and didn’t have very far to go in the first place.

[ID: A gif showing Kirk, Lindstrom, Spock, McCoy, and Reger clutching their heads and slowly collapsing on and around a nearby table.]

After the break, Kirk gives a captain’s log, which is quite impressive considering he’s currently unconscious.

“The Enterprise, still under attack by some sort of heat rays from the surface of Beta 3, is now being commanded by engineering officer Scott. The shore party has been taken by the creature called Landru.”

We briefly see the Enterprise in orbit around the planet (heat rays not pictured), before cutting to the landing party, now relocated to an even more dungeon-like room than the one they were in before. Kirk wakes up, staggers out of the alcove he was laying in, and goes to investigate the other end of the room, where Lindstrom and one of the unnamed ‘shirts are passed out in another alcove. Some further investigation reveals that Kirk is no longer carrying either phaser or communicator, and that the only apparent exit to the place is less of a door and more just a giant slab of stone in a doorway, which Kirk predictably has absolutely no luck moving. Eventually he gives up and goes back to wake up Spock, Lindstrom, and the other ‘shirt, who he addresses as Leslie.

We’ve seen Leslie quite a few times already—actor Eddie Paskey was a recurring extra who frequently filled the role of oddjob Enterprise crewmembers whenever one was needed. Like in the case of Kyle and the other TOS background regulars, it’s difficult to tell how many of Paskey’s appearances should actually be taken to be the same person, since not only does he go through a couple different names before ‘Leslie’ finally gets used, but for all of his characters to be Leslie would require him to go through jobs at a rate unlikely even for Enterprise crewmembers. Still, he gets referred to as Leslie more often than he gets called anything else, so he’s probably Leslie at least most of the time.

Spock, noticing that they’re a couple of heads short all of a sudden, asks where McCoy is. Kirk tells him he doesn’t know, since McCoy was gone before Kirk even woke up, along with O’Neil and “the other guard.” Oh yeah, “the other guard.” Great job remembering your crew’s names there, captain. Actually, said guard is probably named Galloway or possibly Galoway, yet another one of those amorphous extras; Galloway, however, is pretty consistently a security officer (aside from a brief stint as transporter operator) and while he won’t be referred to by name until his next appearance, he’s not called any other names until then, so in this case it’s fairly reasonable to assume that all or least most appearances of actor David L. Ross can be taken to be the same character. Not that it makes any real difference, since he has no personality whatsoever.

Anyway, Spock thinks McCoy and Galloway must have been here but were removed at some point. Kirk wonders where “here” is. “Evidently a maximum security establishment,” Spock replies. That may or may not have been sarcasm. Honestly it’s hard to tell with Spock sometimes.

Kirk also informs Spock that “all our phasers are gone, I checked” even though we’ve been watching him this whole time and he definitely didn’t check anyone but himself, but never mind that. Lindstrom and Leslie finally make it up, looking rather the worse for wear, with Lindstrom mentioning having a killer headache (Leslie probably has one too, but we’d have to pay him more if he said anything). Spock says that this is because they were all subjected to a hypersonic attack, which probably would have killed them had it been any stronger. Instead it just knocked them out, and possibly gave them tinnitus.

Enough about sound waves, Kirk wants to focus on coming up with a way out of this dungeon. He hopefully mentions the way the Lawgivers seemed unable to react to anything unexpected, but Spock shoots that one down, saying they shouldn’t count on it happening again because “in a society as well-organized as this one appears to be, I cannot conceive of such an oversight going uncorrected.” That said, he still finds that behavior to be very interesting, because the way the Lawgivers reacted was a lot like the way a computer would react to being given insufficient or contradictory data. He doesn’t think this means the Lawgivers themselves are computers—but it’s definitely an interesting data point.

At that moment, the door opens and a Lawgiver escorts McCoy and Galloway inside. Kirk rushes over to them, only to see McCoy smile blandly at him and say, “Hello, friend. We were told to wait here.” Oh dear.

Now real concerned, Kirk starts to say “Doc--” but McCoy just turns to him and says, “Can I help you, friend?”

“Don’t you know me?” Kirk asks desperately.

“We all know one another through Landru,” McCoy replies.

Just like Sulu, Spock observes grimly. But Kirk’s having a hard time holding onto his objectivity. It’s one thing to hear Reger talk about Landru doing this to people, even to see it happen to members of his own crew—but this is McCoy. His friend. Kirk grabs him by the shoulders and yells at him to remember—but McCoy just looks confused and asks if Kirk is from “away” because he speaks very strangely. Then even that brief moment of emotion fades away and he returns to smiling. “Ask Landru,” he says. “He remembers. He knows, and he watches.”

Kirk eventually has to give up and leave McCoy sitting in the alcove with the guard. He turns to Spock, but before they can even begin to confer on this problem, the door opens again to admit a couple of Lawgivers. One of them points their rod threateningly at Kirk and orders him to come with them. Kirk tries his previous trick of just refusing, but as Spock predicted, that bug has evidently been patched, because this time the Lawgiver calmly replies, “Then You Will Die.”

It seems there’s not much choice but for Kirk to get going, so with one final order for Spock to see if he can do anything about McCoy’s whole situation, he follows the Lawgiver out the door. Spock watches him go before turning to McCoy and asking what’s going to happen to Kirk. “He goes to joy, peace and tranquility,” McCoy says happily. “He goes to meet Landru. Happiness is to all of us blessed by Landru.” Spock gives this statement the side-eye it deserves.

We then see Kirk in another room, standing up against a wall with some heavy-duty wrist restraints in place.

[ID: Kirk standing up against a wall, being restrained by two large bars holding his wrists in place, while two Lawgivers stand in front of him, pointing their rods at him.]

This is only happiness to a very specific subset of people.

But before Kirk can meet his grim fate, the Lawgivers are interrupted by someone else coming in. This is not another Lawgiver, however, but a bald man in bright orange robes, who speaks—well, I can’t exactly say he speaks normally because no one around here does, but he at least doesn’t sound like he’s speaking through a knock-off toy Darth Vader helmet. “I am Marplon,” he tells the Lawgivers. “It is your hour. Happy communing.”

“With Thanks. Hap-py Comm-uning,” one Lawgiver replies, and they both head off to take a smoke break or whatever the Lawgiver equivalent is. Marplon steps into the nearby control booth and flicks some switches, causing the booth to slowly rotate around to face Kirk (presumably with the aid of an extra and a pulley somewhere behind the camera) while a dramatic sting plays.

Meanwhile, back in the dungeon, Spock is poking around at McCoy. Evidently someone leaning over you and almost poking you in the eye as they put their hands all over your face isn’t considered bothersome behavior under the directives of Landru, since McCoy seems perfectly fine with it and just sits there calmly while Spock does whatever it is he’s doing. Eventually, Spock grimly pulls his hands away and says, “Impossible. He’s under extremely powerful control.”

You kind of have to wonder what Spock saw in there. The nature of Landru’s control is a bit vague on the details—do members of the Body possess any degree of personality and individuality, smothered though it may be under a stupor of happy-happy-peace-and-tranquility thoughts? Or are they all being outright puppeteered by Landru? They at least seem to have enough personality to have names, and the fact that they stop and have discussions with each other seems to indicate that they aren’t a total hivemind—Tula has to be informed out loud by Bilar that the landing party are strangers in town, rather than her just knowing it automatically as soon as he knew it. But McCoy doesn’t show any sign of retaining any amount of McCoy-ness after he gets taken. He doesn’t remember Kirk and Spock at all, he doesn’t use any of his usual mannerisms, he doesn’t—as we’ll see in a bit—respond to perceived threats the way McCoy usually does, and in general he doesn’t act like McCoy-but-unnaturally-happy-and-calm so much as he acts like a completely different person. So when Spock says he’s under “powerful control” it’s hard to say whether he means that he saw McCoy being forced to feel peaceful and loyal to Landru, or if he saw McCoy in there, somewhere, possibly even aware, but no longer able to control his own actions. Either way, it’s a pretty damn creepy thought.

Unsatisfied with Spock’s analysis, Lindstrom asks if they’re, what, just going to stand around here and do nothing? Spock replies that there’s not a lot they can do, unless Lindstrom has any bright ideas about how to get through a solid stone door. Lindstrom clearly does not, because instead he just splutters about how “This is simply ridiculous, a bunch of stone age characters running around in robes--!” as if he’s got half a mind to just march out there and tell everyone to stop all this nonsense and behave, at which point presumably the Lawgivers will drop their rods and shuffle away in embarrassment. I can only conclude that Mr. Lindstrom has not been serving aboard the Enterprise very long, otherwise he would know that this is hardly any more ridiculous than the usual kind of thing they get up to. You notice Leslie over there isn’t saying anything. Leslie’s seen some shit.

Spock coolly points out that these “stone age characters” are in command of some powers that the Enterprise crew have so far been helpless to understand or resist. “Not simple. Not ridiculous,” he says. “Very, very dangerous.”

On the one hand, this could easily just be your standard sarcastic Spock response of the sort commonly seen whenever someone decides to start running their mouth off in his vicinity, but you have to wonder if he’s not also feeling particularly ticked off at Lindstrom scorning this whole situation, considering that Spock just got done with a close examination of exactly how powerful a grip Landru currently has on the mind of one of Spock’s two close friends. And his other close friend has just been taken off to have the same thing done to him, with Spock powerless to stop it. I mean, let’s put that in non-science fiction terms: imagine you woke up to find you’d been taken captive, and some of the people you were with, including a friend of yours, aren’t there. And then your captors show up and throw them back in your cell, and when you examine your friend you realize that, while you have no idea what happened to him while he was gone, he came back so badly concussed he doesn’t know who you are or where he is, and can’t even answer a simple question. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Your other friend has just been dragged off for the same treatment, and there was nothing you could do about that, either. And as you stand there, desperately wracking your brain for any way out of this, trying not to think about the state your other friend will be in when he comes back, this punk starts whining about how ridiculous the situation is, as if he’s more upset about being bested by what he views as an inferior opponent than by the damage those opponents have already caused, and the very real threat those of you remaining are still facing. Granted, I don’t think that’s what Lindstrom actually meant; he was probably just expressing understandable if poorly-worded frustration at being helpless to do anything in a situation where it feels like you really should be able to do something. But it’s not real surprising that Spock would feel rather cheesed at him about it. Y’know, if Vulcans felt cheesed, which of course they don’t.

At that point, the door opens and two more Lawgivers come in. One of them points their rod at Spock and orders him to come with them. Spock more or less shrugs and follows them out the door, leaving Lindstrom and Leslie alone to ruminate about how screwed they are.

The Lawgivers take Spock to the brainwashing room, where Marplon is releasing Kirk from the restraints. Kirk walks over to Spock with a vacant smile and tells him, “Joy to you, friend. Peace and contentment will fill you. You will know the peace of Landru.” Spock doesn’t say anything, but his expression indicates that he’s gearing up to end somebody over this.

[ID: Spock, being escorted by two Lawmakers, watching as Kirk tells him, “You will know the peace of Landru.” Spock has a particularly murderous expression on his face.]

Spock is gonna KILL GOD.

After the break, things look grim, with Spock—looking highly unimpressed--restrained against the wall while Marplon makes the lights flash and the Lawgivers point their rods at Spock for good measure. But when the Lawgivers have left, Marplon looks up and says, “Have no fear, friend. The effect is harmless.” He introduces himself and explains that he was unfortunately too late to save McCoy and the other guard, so watch out for them. But, as it turns out, he wasn’t too late to save Kirk, who was just faking for the Lawgivers.

Marplon goes on to explain that he is actually the third man in Reger’s triad (wow, small world), and that they’ve been “awaiting your return.” Spock tells him that they are not the Archons, although, really, who or what exactly these people think the Archons are is still pretty hazy. And indeed, Marplon himself doesn’t seem real fussed about the distinction, saying that, “Whatever you may call yourselves, you are in fulfillment of prophecy. We ask your help.” The poor guy is practically trembling with a mixture of enthusiasm and desperation.

Spock asks where Reger is and Marplon says that he’ll join them, adding that Reger is immune to absorption. Exactly why this should be is never explained, and neither is the question of what exactly happened to Reger after the group got captured. One would assume that being in the presence of said group would rather give the game away, but maybe Marplon was able to cover for him somehow.

But never mind Reger—what Spock really wants to know more about is Landru. But upon being asked about him, Marplon gets even more panicky and says they can’t discuss that just now because Landru will hear. Although if Landru could hear them in here, they’d already be screwed, given everything Marplon has just admitted out-loud. My best guess would be that Landru isn’t quite as omniscient as all that and the resistance members are just (understandably) a bit paranoid and superstitious, although I wouldn’t rule out the possibility that, true to form for vengeful deity-types, saying Landru’s name attracts his attention.

Marplon hands Spock a couple of the confiscated phasers, which Spock stows away just before the Lawgivers come back in. Marplon just has time to warn Spock to behave just as he saw Kirk doing before slipping back into his own charade to tell the Lawgivers that “It is done!” Spock obligingly spouts the standard peace and contentment and so on, although I can’t say he puts a great deal of effort into it. The Lawgivers seem to be satisfied, though, because they take him back to the cell without fuss.

Back in the cell, Spock meets up with Kirk. They exchange a bit of “peace and tranquility” talk very loudly to satisfy McCoy and the other guard, before Kirk drops it and mutters, “Are you alright?” “Quite alright,” Spock replies. “But be careful of Dr. McCoy.” Indeed, as soon as he says this, McCoy rises up in the background ominously.

[ID: A gif of Kirk, Spock and Lindstrom standing in a half-circle near an archway. Spock says, “Be careful of Doctor McCoy.” As Kirk replies, “I understand,” McCoy stands up in the background.]

“I FUCKIN HEARD THAT”

Kirk tries to question Spock, who says he has a theory about Landru, but he’s cautious about sharing it with McCoy hovering in the background glaring at them like that. “You speak in strange whispers,” McCoy says as they turn to look at him. “This is not the way of Landru.”

Of everyone we’ve seen being or pretending to be Landru-possessed in the episode so far, the acting choices have mostly fallen on a spectrum ranging from Takei’s “incredibly high” to Nimoy’s “barely even bothering.” (Shatner falls somewhere in the middle, around “comfortably buzzed.”) Kelley, on the other hand, opted for a direction I can only describe as “intensely Southern passive-aggressiveness.” Perhaps it’s the increased Georgia drawl, but Possessed!McCoy feels eerily familiar, like someone I’ve definitely encountered at the Dollar General before. It’s the exact kind of sinister watchfulness not quite masked by a cheerful, friendly exterior that you would expect to find in that lady at church who would never say the world ‘hell’ but gets a little too excited during the bits of sermon about damnation and is currently engaged in complex political machinations to backstab Becky from next door because she lets her kids play too loudly and sold more brownies at the last bake sale (or just in the average head of a homeowner’s association.) I half expect him to start handing out Chick Tracts at any moment.

Before that can happen, Kirk is able to pacify him with more peace and tranquility, then dramatically claps his hands on Spock and Lindstrom’s shoulders and declares “MY FRIENDS” as he ushers them away to a slightly more private corner of the cell. There Spock is able to go into his theory, such as it is. “This is a soulless society, Captain,” he explains, and given that Vulcans have quantified the existence of the soul he probably knows what he’s talking about. “It has no spirit, no spark. All is indeed peace and tranquility—the peace of the factory, the tranquility of the machine. All parts working in unison.”

“And when something unexplained happens...their routine is disrupted?” Kirk muses. Spock agrees, and says that someone must be giving the orders—but who? Landru, presumably, but Spock says there is no Landru...not in the human sense.

“You’re thinking the same thing I am, Mr. Spock,” Kirk says. “The plug must be pulled.” But if Spock is thinking that, it’s not without some reservations. Because, you know, that whole prime directive thing. They’re really not supposed to go around deposing/assassinating political leaders, even really obnoxious ones. But, Kirk says, after all about two seconds of reflection, that directive is meant for living, growing cultures, which this one ain’t. This would be a fascinating ethical point if it wasn’t so obviously a quick justification to let them get on with saving the day without all that pesky worldbuilding getting in the way.

Conveniently, before Spock can say anything in response to this, the door opens again, but this time instead of more Lawgivers it’s Marplon and Reger. McCoy immediately stands up and says, “JOY TO YOU FRIENDS!” like that guy at Wal-Mart that you were really hoping to avoid having a conversation with but you didn’t sneak out of the cereal aisle quickly enough and now he’s seen you. Marplon and Reger keep up the smiling act until they make it over to the Non-Brainwashed Club at the back of the room. Marplon’s brought them their communicators, which is helpful, but Kirk has something more in mind. What they really need, he tells them, is more information about Landru. Marplon and Reger shake their heads frantically, mumbling about “the prophecy” but Kirk isn’t interested in prophecies. “If you want to be liberated from Landru,” he tells the two men, “we’ll need your help.”

It seems he said that just a bit too loudly, though, because McCoy springs up from his seat, points dramatically, and yells, “You’re not of the Body!” Kirk tries to calm him down, but McCoy isn’t having any more peace and tranquility. He screams for the Lawgivers before rushing Kirk and trying to throttle him, screaming “TRAITORS! TRAITORS!” all the while. (See what I meant about him not responding to threats normally? McCoy wouldn’t bother to try to strangle someone if he could whack ‘em with a hypospray instead.)

The other guard joins in, taking a swing at Kirk, but Spock intercepts and tosses him to the floor. He’s a lot less helpful with McCoy, mostly just kind of standing there watching as McCoy manages to back Kirk up against a wall, still screaming. “Doc, I don’t wanna hurt you,” Kirk begs, but of course, this does nothing. In the end, Kirk has to punch McCoy and then put him in a chokehold until he drops. Kirk slowly lowers him to the floor, sadly muttering, “Aw, doc...”

Just then there’s a noise of someone approaching, and Kirk and Spock quickly duck into cover in the corners. A pair of Lawgivers enter and walk right past them, demonstrating why it’s not a super great idea to dress your law enforcement in big peripheral-vision-obscuring hoods, not to mention why most jail cells aren’t designed to have lots of great hiding spots. The Lawgivers promptly get ambushed; Kirk deploys the good old fashioned Neck Chop, while Spock, surprisingly, forgoes the usual nerve pinch in favor of just straight up decking the guy. One suspects Spock is feeling a bit crabby at the moment.

[ID: Kirk and Spock fighting Lawmakers between two arches in their dungeon cell. Kirk is standing over an unconscious Lawmaker, who is laying next to an unconscious McCoy, while Spock is leaning back to punch the Lawmaker he is squaring off against.]

DIRECT ACTION

With phase one of the classic “mug the guards and steal their uniforms” maneuver successfully completed, Kirk moves right on to phase two, stripping the robe off one of the fallen Lawgivers and putting it on over his waistcoat. While he’s doing that, he asks Marplon and Reger where Landru is. The two of them stutter fearfully a bit, but Marplon manages to explain that they never see Landru, only hear him, in a place called the Hall of Audiences--conveniently located in this very building! “You’re gonna take us there,” Kirk says, leaving the poor bastards looking like they’re about to cry. When one of them makes a noise Kirk grabs them by the shoulders and yells at them to snap out of it and start acting like men. The empathy on display here is staggering.

Spock, meanwhile, has gotten in touch with the Enterprise and asks them for a status report. Scotty’s apparently been trying to get in contact with them for quite a while now, not that he has anything particularly new to tell them: their orbit is still decaying, the heat beams are still locked onto the ship, and they’ve now got about six hours left. “You’ve got to cut them off or we’ll cook, one way or another,” he says grimly.

Kirk tells him once again to stand by and then asks after Sulu. “He’s peaceful enough, but he worries me,” Scotty replies. Kirk orders him to put a guard on Sulu, which stuns Scotty, but Kirk doesn’t offer any useful information about the situation. All he says is, “Watch him. That’s an order,” and then he hangs up.

Kirk then turns back to Marplon and Reger and says, for the umpteenth time this episode, asks them to tell him about Landru. Which at this point is starting to sound like a repeating dialogue option.

[ID: 1. A shot of Kirk with a video game-style dialogue selection in the bottom left corner, with the option ‘Ask about Landru’ highlighted and the options ‘Ask about Archons’ ‘Ask about Lawgivers’ and ‘Remain Silent’ listed below it. 2. The same shot of Kirk, now saying, “About Landru.”]

“Well...there was war...convulsions...the world was destroying itself,” Reger says. “Landru was our leader. He saw the truth. He changed the world. He took us back, back to a simpler time. A time of peace and tranquility.” Oh fuck, he was one of those dudes. Of course he was. “Everything will be alright if we go back to the old ways, when things were good and simple and peaceful because everyone was busy dying of polio.”

Asked what happened to Landru, Marplon says that he’s still alive. “He is here now. He sees, he hears.” Then he begins to break down, crying, “We have destroyed ourselves! Please, no more.”

“You said you wanted freedom,” Kirk tells him sternly. “It’s time you learned that freedom is never a gift. It has to be earned.”

Yes, yes, very pithy, but I can’t really say I’m here for listening to Kirk tell people who have lived their whole lives under a horrifying totalitarian regime that they need to Man Up. I mean, regular human totalitarian regimes fuck people up enough, let alone one where everyone is literally being mind-controlled. Can you imagine what life is like for these guys? We know that Landru will try to kill anyone that can’t be controlled, so for Marplon and Reger to still be alive means pretending, every day that they were free of Landru’s control—which, depending on whether they somehow broke free or were born immune, could be their entire lives—pretending to be controlled, pretending to be just as happy and tranquil as everyone else, never able to let slip the slightest trace of fear or anger or grief at everything you saw happening around you, lest any of the constantly watching eyes all around you catch on and you either get executed by the Lawmakers or, if you’re not so lucky, slaughtered by the angry mob that just detected a traitor, traitor in its midst. And they were still trying to resist, still working against Landru despite him being, near as they could tell, all but omnipotent. And Kirk’s gonna stand here and lecture them about courage? Sure, they’re afraid—who could blame them? Sometimes people are afraid. Sometimes people need help.

And, well, Kirk’s not helping. Oh, in a broad sense, sure, he’ll save the day and defeat the bad guy for them (spoilers). But as far as Marplon and Reger specifically are concerned, Kirk has really not bothered to help them. He hasn’t made even a pretense of answering any of their questions. He hasn’t explained anything about who the Enterprise crew are, why they’re there, what their theories are about Landru or what they’re planning to do to defeat him. He hasn’t reassured them or made any effort to quell their fears, even though from the perspective of Reger at least, the landing party arriving has directly led to a lot of those fears coming true—since they got here, they’ve drawn suspicion to him that led to his friend being killed and him being pursued and captured, probably to be executed if Marplon hadn’t happened to be around. Kirk hasn’t shown hardly any sympathy for their situation, not directly—oh, he’s muttered to Spock about what a shitshow this whole society is, but he’s not once given Marplon and Reger themselves so much as a “wow, that sucks.” Mostly his interactions with them have ranged from “a bit condescending” to “barely even trying to pretend to be patient.”

And I know I’ve just spent the last two paragraphs ranting at Kirk, but Kirk isn’t really the focus of the problem here. This kind of writing doesn’t feel right for him. Does Kirk sometimes dismiss smaller, individual problems because he’s more focused on the bigger picture? Does he sometimes push people around him a little harder than they can handle because he’s busy pushing himself too hard at the same time? Sure. Those are understandable, human character flaws that are natural extensions of the character strengths that make him a good captain in the first place. But the attitude of this whole episode feels like it has very little to do with Kirk as a character, flawed or otherwise, and much more to do with an obnoxious combination of the lofty moralizing that Star Trek sometimes dips into mixed with an especially 60s-flavored American outlook on Freedom, subsection: The Costs Of. Yeah, we know all about fighting for freedom! We know all about what it costs! We’re the big strong heroes who are gonna save you from Nazis and Communism cause someone’s gotta do it and that someone is us! TROOPS!

As for the lofty moralizing, well, the behavior of our protagonists in this episode feels rather like the other end of the Metron problem in Arena. Our heroes sweep into a Less Advanced society, decide they’re gonna fix everything for them, and proceed to do so without putting much effort into actually including the members of that society in their plans. Heck, how much time have Kirk and Spock spent in this episode chatting about the flaws and foibles of this culture right in front of Reger, Tamar and Marplon, because it’s not like they’re gonna understand us anyway, right? Of course, I’m not saying that they’re acting as bad as the Metrons—they still haven’t been that obnoxious. And of course there are extenuating circumstances; Kirk’s got crewmen down here and a ship up there in immediate danger, he’s short on time and him being frustrated with not getting the help he wants out of the locals is understandable enough. I mean, at the end of the day, whatever they do to Landru is unlikely to be worse for this culture than having the Enterprise crash into it, which is what will happen if they don’t do anything. But again, the writing of the whole thing doesn’t make it feel like our protagonists are actually being driven by desperation, danger and their own flaws; it feels like an attitude that exists on the same kind of spectrum as we saw with the Metrons: there are cultures that do things Right and cultures that do things Wrong. Some of them are more Right than humans so we should aspire to be like them someday, and some of them are more Wrong so we should help get them on the right track. The extraordinary speed with which Kirk brushes aside the question of whether they’re breaking the Prime Directive speaks to the fact that the episode isn’t interested in exploring that question in the first place. It just wants to get on with dropping cool one-liners and defeating the villain.

Kirk says they’re going to find Landru now, but Reger finally reaches his breaking point and starts yelling that he was wrong, he’ll submit to Landru, and tries to run screaming for the Lawgivers. He doesn’t get very far before Spock nerve-pinches him, while Kirk sternly says, “It’s too late for that.” Hmm, I wonder if this could possibly have been averted at all if we’d done anything to help calm him down instead of telling him to tough it out like a real man? Nah, I’m sure it was unavoidable. Kirk then turns to Marplon and says it’s up to him now to take them to Landru. Marplon looks like he’s regretting every single one of his life choices.

But evidently either persuasion or intimidation was effective, because the next thing we see is Marplon leading Kirk and Spock, both now all robed up, down a very orange corridor. He stops at the door at one end of the hall and tells them that this is the Hall of Audiences (fastpass available). Kirk, naturally, tells him to open it. “But this is Landru!” Marplon pleads. Unimpressed, Kirk tells him to get on with it and open the thing already because seriously, there’s only like ten minutes of episode left, we don’t have time for this.

So Marplon performs the Sacred Gesture of Door-Opening, which is to say he folds his fingers and bows, and the door opens. Kirk and Spock hustle in behind him and immediately discard their entire disguises, which may not have been the best idea, practically speaking, but it’s understandable enough; the Hall of Audiences doesn’t look real well-ventilated.

On a side-note, Kirk was definitely not wearing his coat when he put the robe on, but evidently it respawned in his inventory at some point because he is wearing it when he takes the robe off again.

[ID: A comparison between two images. On the left, Kirk putting a Lawgiver’s robe on over his shirt and waistcoat. On the right, Kirk dropping his robe to the floor in the Hall of Audiences, showing his coat on over his shirt and waistcoat.]

One small problem: the room is completely empty, with no sign of any Landrus anywhere. Kirk starts yelling for him, saying that they are the Archons (sure, why not) and they’ve come to have a chat. A moment later, Landru’s projection appears against the back wall. I’m not sure if they intended for his shirt to blend in with the wall so well that it looks like his head is floating, but that’s what they achieved.

[ID: Another projection of Landru, this one a headshot in which the color of his shirt matches the wall behind him so well it’s barely visible.]

a true figurehead

For a moment everyone just stands around staring at Landru, although Marplon is multitasking and also having a massive panic attack. Then Landru finally speaks up. “Despite my efforts to save you, you have invaded the Body, and are causing great harm,” he says. Kirk says they have no intention of causing harm, but Landru keeps right on going. “Obliteration is necessary,” he says. “The infection is strong. For the good of the Body...you must die. It is...a great sorrow.” Oh, well, if you feel bad about it, that’s okay then. Carry on.

Kirk says they don’t intend to die, either, but as you might have worked out by now, Landru’s not listening. “All who saw you, all who know of your presence here, must be excised,” he says. “The memory of the Body will be cleansed.”

Before Kirk can keep this one-sided conversation going any longer, Spock tells him it’s useless—this is only a projection. “Yes, Mr. Spock,” Kirk muses. “Let’s have a look at the projector.”

The two of them take their phasers out and shoot the wall Landru’s projecting onto, blasting a big hole in the masonry. For once, shooting the hologram actually turns out to be useful, as it reveals the real Landru: a giant computer. Kirk and Spock exchange some pretty smug looks. “Of course. It had to be,” Kirk says. For, as Spock points out, this whole society has all along been run to a computer’s concept of perfection—peace, harmony, all parts working in perfect unison, and absolutely no soul.

“I am Landru,” the computer trills at them. “You have intruded.”

“Pull out its plug, Mr. Spock,” Kirk says, soaring clear over not only any ethical dilemmas here but also over the question of whether “pull out its plug” is even a metaphor that would make sense in the 23rd century. But when they raise their phasers again, there’s a flash of light, and not like the kind there’s supposed to be when you fire a phaser. “Your devices have been neutralized,” the computer informs them. “So it shall be with you. I am Landru.”

Kirk, barely missing a beat over the devastating failure of his cool one-liner, says, “Landru died over six thousand years ago.” The computer insists that it is Landru. “All that he was, I am. His experience, his knowledge.”

“But not his wisdom,” Kirk says. “He may have programmed you, but he could not have given you a soul. You are a machine.”

Landru 2.0 says that this is irrelevant, they will be obliterated, and that the good of the Body is the prime directive. Okay, first of all, that’s copyright infringement. Second of all—what, exactly, is the good? The computer stutters over this, repeating, “I am Landru,” before finally managing to spit out, “The good...is the harmonious continuation...of the Body. The good is peace, tranquility. The good of the Body is the directive.”

“Then I put it to you that you have disobeyed the prime directive,” Kirk says. “You are harmful to the Body.”

“The Body is! It exists. It is healthy.”

“The Body is dying. YOU are destroying it.”

“Do you ask a question?!” Oh, bad move, that’s a sure sign you’re losing the argument. Kirk, sensing weakness, takes a moment to get into a proper computer-dissing stance before asking his next question: “What have you done to do justice to the full potential of every individual in the Body?”

[ID: A gif of Kirk standing in front of a large hole in the stone wall before him, one leg propped up on the bottom of said hole. When Landru 2.0 asks, “Do you ask a question?” Kirk puts one hand on his leg and the other on his hip, and pauses deliberately for a moment before responding.]

Landru 2.0 doesn’t know what to do with that, so Kirk just continues anyway. “Without freedom of choice, there is no creativity! Without creativity, there is no life. The Body dies. The fault...is YOURS.”

Spock chimes in at this point to ask, “Are you aiding the Body or are you destroying it?” Landru 2.0 says it’s not programmed to answer that question. At that point a couple of Lawmakers come running in, but they’re not looking nearly so intimidating anymore, yelling, “Landru, guide us!” in a panic. Kirk turns toward them and pulls out his phaser (presumably out of force of habit, since it doesn’t work anymore) but Spock says they needn’t bother anyway—the Lawmakers have no guidance, probably for the first time ever in their lives, and thus are not much of a threat at the moment. Also, they don’t even have their giant sticks, so what are they gonna do? Headbutt the intruders to death? So Kirk dismissed them and turns back to Landru 2.0, ordering it to answer the question.

“Peace, order, and tranquility are maintained,” Landru 2.0 says, having had a bit of time of think about it. “The Body lives, but I reserve creativity to me.”

“Then the Body dies,” Spock says. “Creativity is necessary for the health of the Body.”

“That...is...impossible!” Landru 2.0 cries desperately.

Marplon, who’s been standing in the back looking real worldview-shattered this whole time, finally speaks up to ask if this is truly Landru, like someone who just met their favorite celebrity and got real let down. “What’s left of him,” Spock says. “After he built and programmed this machine six thousand years ago.”

“You must create the good,” Kirk tells Landru 2.0. “That is the will of Landru, nothing else.”

“But there is evil!”

“Then the evil must be destroyed. That is the prime directive, and YOU are the evil!”

“I think! I live!”

“You are the evil! The evil must be destroyed! Fulfill the prime directive!”

At this point Landru 2.0 starts smoking, as computers are well-known to do when they think too hard. Kirk keeps yelling at it to “Fulfill the prime directive!” and Landru 2.0 eventually just starts yelling, “Help me! Help me! Help me! Help me!” until it explodes in a giant shower of sparks.

[ID: A gif showing Landru 2.0, a large boxy computer sitting behind a hole in a stone wall, sparking wildly and catching fire. The gif cuts briefly to Kirk watching, before cutting back to show Landru 2.0 smoking as the sparks die slowly.]

Yeah IT’s probably not gonna be able to help with that one.

Kirk and Spock step inside to take a look at the remains (probably not a good idea, the air quality in there cannot be good). Evidently satisfied that Landru 2.0 is well and truly busted, Kirk turns to Marplon and says, “Well, you’re on your own now. I hope you’re up to it. You can get rid of those robes, and if I were you I’d start looking for a new job.” Gee, thanks.

He then calls the Enterprise to see how they’re doing. Scotty reports that the heat rays are gone, and Sulu’s all back to normal. To demonstrate this, Sulu shrugs at the camera so exaggeratedly I half expected a laugh track to follow it, before clapping the current helmsman on the shoulder and hustling him out of his chair so Sulu can get back to work. SERIOUSLY? I’m well used to Trek blowing off the effects of things that really ought to be pretty traumatic, but even for TOS this is pretty extreme. I mean, even putting aside the whole matter of recovering so quickly and easily from incredibly powerful mind control stripping away your entire sense of self in subjugation to a mindless collective, how did he get up there so quickly? The Enterprise is a big ship! You can only get from Sickbay to the bridge so fast! Landru’s been out of commission for what, two minutes? Five minutes, generously? Hell, he didn’t even get to take the rest of his shift off? Man, they really keep your nose to the grindstone on this ship.

Kirk, evidently more satisfied with this than I am, tells Scotty to stand by to beam them up, then hangs up and says, “Let’s go see how the others are doing. Marplon can finish up here.” We don’t get to find out how the others are doing, or indeed what the heck “finish up” is supposed to mean in this context, because the scene cuts immediately back to the bridge sometime later, where Kirk is giving a captain’s log.

“The Enterprise is preparing to leave Beta 3 in starsystem C-111. Sociologist Lindstrom is remaining behind with a party of experts who will help restore the planet’s culture to a human form.”

“Marvelous,” Spock comments as Kirk finishes. “The late Landru—a marvelous feat of engineering. A computer capable of directing the lives of millions of human beings.” Pretty impressive indeed—heck, just building a computer that’s still running after six thousand years is quite incredible. Would have been nice to study it. Pity someone blew it up.

Kirk’s not feeling real sentimental about it, though. It was still only a machine, he says. “The original Landru programmed it with all his knowledge, but he couldn’t give it his wisdom, his compassion, his understanding...his soul, Mr. Spock.”

Yes, yes, so you’ve said a bazillion times already, although it’s quite a large assumption given they have no idea what the original Landru was actually like. I mean, we do know this was a guy whose response to a world in crisis was to take everybody back to “a simpler time” aka the imaginary dreamland of bitter conservatives everywhere, and that he was so convinced his method of running that society was the only correct answer that he built a computer to go on micro-managing that society in his name forever. Not to mention, y’know, the mind-controlling powers that he apparently built into it. It’s entirely possible that Landru 2.0 was not an error of programming but in fact was running exactly as intended.

“Predictably metaphysical,” Spock says, apparently forgetting that he made the exact some observation himself earlier. “I prefer the concrete, the graspable, the provable.”

“You would make a splendid computer, Mr. Spock,” Kirk says fondly. Spock, of course, looks immensely pleased and replies, “That is very kind of you, captain.”

Before these two dorks can get any further with their sweet-talk, Lindstrom calls up to say good-bye. Asked how it’s going down there, he says, “Couldn’t be better, captain. Already this morning, we’ve had half a dozen domestic quarrels and two genuine knock-down drag-outs. It may not be paradise, but it’s certainly human.” Huh. I guess that’s better than laying in the fetal position crying, which is what I would be doing in that situation. Still, good to see that this society is acting properly human now. This...non-human society.

Kirk wishes him good luck and leaves him to it. As they prepare to head out, Spock muses about, ““How often mankind has wished for a world as peaceful and secure as the one Landru provided.” “Yes, and we never got it,” Kirk says. “Just lucky, I guess.” Yes, yes, no such thing as a utopia, and all that. Personally I just fantasize about a world where I earn a living wage, but I suppose that would make for a rather more boring episode.

They exchange wry looks, and the episode ends. There’s no sign or word of any of the crewmembers who got Landru’d throughout this scene, so who knows how they’re dealing with all this. I’m assuming McCoy is off somewhere getting super drunk right about now.

The Return of the Archons is an episode that always feels to me as if someone started writing it with no idea of where it was going and just made it up as they went along, but without the bit where you go back at the end and edit everything to match. There are a lot of things that either seem odd in the context of what we learn later, or just get brought up and then never explained. The biggest offender is the Festival, which dominates the first act of the episode so much you figure it has to be important, but then it just gets dropped with no answer as to what purpose it serves, how often it happens, why older people are exempt, etc. (The James Blish novelization takes a crack at it by having Lindstrom postulate that having everyone wildly run amok for one night a year was a form of population control. Which...seems suspect to me, but hey, he tried.) But there are plenty of other questions as well, like, where’s the ‘valley’ that everyone talks about, and who, if anyone, lives there? Why are some people immune to being Landru’d? Why is there a whole special chamber that our heroes get dragged off to one by one to get absorbed, when the Lawmakers are capable of doing it just by tapping people with their rods? Why is Hacom so grumpy and un-tranquil despite apparently being a member of the Body, none of the rest of whom show that amount of individualism? Considering Landru 2.0’s range apparently extends far enough for Sulu to still be controlled while up in orbit, why didn’t it ever try to use Sulu against the Enterprise? Why does Sulu, even after being absorbed, yell at that guy in the transporter room about having the wrong clothes? How do the Lawgivers do that robo-voice thing? I’m used to having to fill in some gaps on my own to make TOS episodes make total sense, but even for TOS this one has an abnormal amount of unanswered questions, which makes it difficult for me to take it seriously as a story, even aside from my problems with the whole “FIGHT FOR YOUR FREEDOM LIKE REAL MEN” thing. On the plus side: waistcoats!

Landru’s circuit-popping demise has brought our Bluescreen Monologues tally up by one. No crew deaths this time, everyone escaped the clutches of Landru more or less intact. Next time we’ll be seeing the origins of a particularly iconic foe in Space Seed.

#star trek #star trek TOS #star trek season one #star trek TOS recaps #1.21 The Return of the Archons #1.21 The Return of the Archons recap

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so-darya-darya · 4 years

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Thank you @hanhan156 for tagging me! It’s so exciting to learn more about people 😄 and sure I just need an excuse to talk about myself😋 so let’s go:

1. Do you ever make your bed?

As I leave in a studio I kinda have too. And I really like how it looks like with a cozy cover and many pillows.

2. What’s your favorite number?

I don’t have one and don’t actually understand how someone can have it. You like the way it looks? Or it’s your lucky number? Or it has some memory behind it? No idea

3. What’s your job?

Well, I can talk about my work for hours, cause I love it) I work as a recruiter in a big international company. I look for both professionals and early in careers in several countries in very different directions from tech to sales to finance and so on. I can complain sometimes how stressed I am and how I feel bad about my job, but at the end of the day I am really happy with it and the company is wonderful and so on and so forth))) check me out on LinkedIn 😅

4. If you could go back to school, would you?

No, I wouldn’t. School was miserable and I was glad to finish it. University was more fun for sure and I am grateful for memories and experience, but I am so much more happy now.

5. Can you parallel park?

I have a license, but I can barely drive 😬 I cannot parallel park or park in any other way, I can drive straight forward and panic at every crossroad or if another car is passing by or for any other reason. Honestly, a couple of times I stopped the car, turned hazards on and cried)))

6. A job you had that would surprise people?

None, I guess. I had a number of shitty jobs while studying with McDonalds being the best among them, but nothing peculiar.

7. Do you believe aliens are real?

I guess, statistically, there should be some other life in this endless universe.

8. Can you drive a manual car?

No, obviously))))

9. What’s your guilty pleasure?

Reading gay fics counts? And well, I do indulge myself in many things, but I’d rather keep it private😈

10. Tattoos?

No, and I don’t plan any

11. Favorite colour?

Deep blue🌊

12. Things people do that piss you off?

I get irritated so much when people are too slow with actions, decisions or understanding, but I am working on it)))

13. Any phobias?

I don’t have any phobias, just rational fears like pain or standing on the edge of the roof. But I am most scared of depths, as I am a bad swimmer.

14. Favorite childhood sport?

I didn’t do any sports as a child and I don’t do it now, just some gym occasionally. But I LOVED running as a child, especially in nature, pretending to be a horse.🐎 I still remember this powerful feeling 😄

15. Do you ever talk to yourself?

Yes, all the time) who else would listen to all my constant ramble?!

16. What movie do you adore?

I don’t know 🤔 I am not very much into movies, they seldom move me deeply, it’s more like an entertainment

17. Do you like doing puzzles?

Not really. Working with small pieces irritates me and I hate to concentrate too much on little details and the result is so slow. Actually, now as I think about puzzles I get irritated already 😆

18. What’s your favorite kind of music?

I listen to lots of different music all the time: from classics (Tchaikovsky is my favorite) to heavy things (Rammstein, SOAD, etc) to soft indie ( Brazzaville, AnnenMayKantereit) to pop (Lady Gaga, Lana del Rey) and back. Probably, rap and hip hop are not so close to my heart, but this week I discovered Lizzo and she’s so empowering, I can stop listening to her)

19. Tea or coffee?

Black tea with milk no sugar, thank you

20. First thing you remember wanting to be when you grow up?

A politician because I wanted power and money😂 or a horse (see q. 14))))

Wow, that’s a long post! Thanks again for asking, it was so great to answer all these questions. I don’t feel like tagging anyone, so let it stay like this )

#personal

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ladyseaheart1668 · 5 years

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Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 40)

Description: Rourke’s shadow continues to loom over the Catalysts and the Northbridge Supers. But there is joy mixed in with their dread.

Tagging: @mysteli @whatmcsaid @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @endlesshero1122 @feartheendlesssummer @tigerbryn11

Chapter 40 : The Beauty of Winter

Diego

I admit to being nervous that something would go wrong in the process of obtaining our marriage license, but it seems Zahra did it again when she created Varyyn's legal identity, because nothing is questioned. We have our marriage license within an hour, with plenty of time to make it to the ceremony at the appointed time.

It's not a fancy ceremony, but I don't need it to be, and I'm pretty sure Varyyn feels the same. As far as I'm concerned, we've been married for six years, and this is really just a renewal of vows. Even the vows are of the traditional “to have and to hold” variety. Still, it's not nothing to exchange rings with the man I love and have us declared legally wed in front of witnesses. Obviously, there's no need for a reception, either. But I do manage to reserve the garden gazebo long enough for a few slow dances. I chose one song in particular, a Spanish-language love song that I heard a few years ago when it was performed by the choir at the college I was lecturing at for the semester. I bought their CD just for this song. As I sway gently in Varyyn's arms, my head resting on his shoulder, I let the lyrics wash over me.

Yo no naci sino para quereros;

Mi alma os ha cortado a su dedida;

Por hábito del alma misma os quiero.

Escrito está en mi alma vuestro gesto;

Yo lo leo tan solo que aun de vos

Me guardo enesto.

Quanto tengo confiesso yo deveros;

Por vos naci, por vos tengo la vida,

Y por vos é de morir y por vos muero.

“This was a wonderful surprise, my darling,” Varyyn murmurs. I sigh happily, nuzzling his neck.

“I'm glad you think so. I'm glad I was able to pull it off, too. Allie and Jake helped, of course. And Zahra.”

“Do you regret at all that the rest of the Catalysts weren't present?”

“Nah. They were all at our real wedding. Besides, it's only a couple months until Sean and Michelle's wedding, and I wouldn't want to steal their thunder.”

“A fair point. Should we not tell them about this?”

“There's no need to keep it a secret. Zahra knows. We'll just let it come out naturally.” I pull back slightly so I can look him in the eye, letting my arms drape around his neck. I smile as I gaze into his eyes. “...Amor de mi alma...”

“ 'Love of my soul'?”

“That's the name of this song.” I peck his mouth with mine. “And it's what you are to me.”

“...I love you, my Diego. I don't know how I could have been so lucky to have found you...”

“You brought an army to the resort where I was staying and lassoed me right up.” I meant it as a joke, but he winces visibly. I take his face in my hands. A blue halo hovers around my fingers, barely detectable as they displace the light creating the hologram disguise. “Baby, you know I don't hold that against you, right?”

“...I know. You and I have had a long time to get past that. I am still so sorry for it. I won't ever forget the lessons I was taught over those six months. ...And I do not only mean English.”

“Well...that's a good thing. Lessons should be remembered. As long as you don't let guilt drown you.”

“I promise, if ever I am tempted to let guilt drown me, I think of my darling.”

There is nothing that needs to be said to that. I lean back into my husband's embrace, resting my head on his chest. I steal a glance over at Allie and Jake, gazing into each other's eyes as they sway. Her arms are around his neck and his fingers lace together at the small of her back, but they can't press in very close thanks to Allie's ever-expanding baby bump. The sight makes me smile.

I know trouble is coming. I don't think we're safe from Rourke. Not yet. But at least for now, everything is right with the world.

Alodia

So I get to spend my Saturday in Vegas. I get to watch my best friend be legally married to the love of his life, and I get to fall asleep that night beside mine. No one dies in my dreams that night. But I wake in the gray hours of the morning with vague memories of a journey home. It should have been simple and straightforward, just a straight shot driving down a long road, but somewhere along the way, the road twisted and turned dusty. I lie in bed with River swimming languidly in my womb, listening to Jake's soft breathing and the hum of the air conditioning as I carefully collect the scattered images of my dreams, laying them out in my brain like puzzle pieces.

They don't add up to much, and they're more than a little ridiculous now that I am awake. When the smooth stretch of paved highway that I drove down turned to a dusty dirt road, the sudden appearance of train tracks lead to a locomotive that seemed to actively pursue me like a smoke-belching dragon. At some point I escaped, but ended up driving on a track of rollercoaster instead. Somehow I must have exited the car, because the next thing I knew, I was at Hartfeld. My friends were all there, busy with classes and activities. I think Rourke was there, too. He was playing with beakers, rambling about something to do with the island, with the Endless, with Project Janus. But I was striding purposefully through the main halls, laser-focused still on getting home, convinced that all I had to do was keep going straight. I must have gotten home at some point, because the next I knew, I was in bed with Jake. But not here and now, in a Vegas hotel. It couldn't have been, because I wasn't pregnant. Instead, there was a form between us. Small and fair-skinned, like me and like Jake. Blue-eyed, of course, but with chestnut hair; a blend of my blonde and his sandy brown. A perfect blend of the two of us. I roll carefully to face Jake's peacefully sleeping form, scooting closer to drape my arm over him.

I've never actually been religious, not even in this timeline. And it's a little hard now to think of God in the traditional sense with what the Endless put the Vaanti through on her quest to protect us. But sometimes I can't help praying to whoever or whatever power might be listening.

Please... I send a thought out into the universe as I hold the image of the chestnut-haired child in my mind. Please let this be what I'm heading toward...

Jake

We do actually end up spending most of Sunday at Santa Monica Pier, which I don't regret. Exciting as Vegas is, it's nice to have a quieter day to close out the weekend. We play air hockey and pinball at the arcade, visit the aquarium, ride the ferris wheel, eat fries and sandwiches for lunch, and end the afternoon with ice cream and a walk along the docks.

The newlyweds are predictably eating more ice cream off each other's faces than their own cones. They may have been married and living together for the last five years, but I guess there's no escaping the giddy afterglow of a wedding. I'm kinda feeling it myself. When Varyyn and Diego finally manage to finish their cones, there's nothing left between them and passionately kissing and groping. In a blink, Varyyn has Diego's back pressed against a lamppost. I chuckle, bending to press a kiss to the curve of Alodia's neck.

“Those two seem to have forgotten us,” I murmur. “Wanna go get some sand between our toes?”

“Absolutely.”

We toss our cups into the trashcan and make our way down to the beach, taking off our shoes and socks to carry in hand as we walk.

“That was a real nice little wedding,” I remark. “Not sure it tops the first one, though.”

“Well, the first one had everyone there,” Alodia points out. “Though admittedly, you and I didn't get much chance to witness it, being a bit distracted.” She playfully kisses my cheek. I lace the fingers of my free hand through hers, and bend to kiss the top of her head.

“You ever think you might wanna do that someday? Get a license for the two of us and legally get hitched.”

She hesitates for a moment. “...Do you?”

I shrug. “Maybe. I ain't thinking it's a necessity, though there are practical advantages. I wasn't thinking it would be any time soon, either. Think we got enough on our plates as is with the baby due.”

She nods. The relief in the smile she gives me doesn't escape me. “Yeah. As fast as everything has been happening since I got back...I'm not sure I could handle a second wedding right now. Besides...as much as I know it's been more than five years for you...it hasn't been nearly as long for me.”

“No, I guess it hasn't. ...Guess it's like when we went through the portal and wound up six months ahead. We came out still looking like hell after the battle, and we found Diego with a beard and long hair.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” She sighs. “I think I'd like to live as husband and wife the way we were supposed to before we make it official out here.”

“...I seem to recall us making plans to have a little cottage on the island way back when. ...A mansion in Laguna Beach is a bit of a leap.”

“Well, not too much when you really think about it. If everything had stayed the way it was, we probably would have lived at the Celestial until our cottage got built. We'd have our friends around us...all of us together on our own private island...” She trails off, and I get the sense we're venturing into painful territory. I put my arm over her shoulders and pull her close to my side, kissing the top of her head.

“I guess it's a little too early for me to be thinking about how I'm gonna top this come Valentine's Day.”

She lays her head on my shoulder. “Come Valentine's Day, we'll be in Northbridge. All the Catalysts together again.”

“You just saw everyone two weeks ago. Miss them that much already?”

“Is that weird?”

I smile. “Nah. I miss 'em, too. It'll be good to see 'em again. Help with the last-minute prep for the wedding.”

She snorts. “And what kind of prep are you going to be doing? From what I hear, while I'm getting fitted for my bridesmaid dress, you and the men are going to be having wild times at the bachelor party Craig's planning.”

“Mmm, yeah. And knowing him, it will be a properly debauched affair.”

“Knowing the groom, it won't be too debauched, or else Craig will never hear the end of it.”

“You're right. Sean's a decent, modest sort of man.” I smile at her and she smiles back. She sighs, and the sound is content. I put an arm over her shoulders and she nestles into me. “...I'm not, though. I'm a lowlife lecher.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right. After five years, it's a miracle I don't have jealous ex-lovers assaulting me every day for stealing you away.”

“Of course not. They all hate me so much, they're just secretly shaking their heads, thinking you're just my latest poor victim.”

“And none of them have come forward to warn me? That's not very...” She trails off and doesn't say anything long enough that I frown.

“Very what?” I prompt.

She lifts her head, turning to look at my face. “...Jake...I think...I've had a thought about how Rourke...how he disappeared.”

I reflexively glance around, making sure we're not in earshot of anyone who might give us funny looks. I take her shoulders gently and kiss her forehead. “Not here. Tell us all together in the car.”

* * *

The atmosphere is anxious as we buckle ourselves in and I start the car. She told Diego and Varyyn the same thing she told me. That she's had a thought about how Rourke faked his death.

“What's your thought, Alodia?” Varyyn asks.

“Do you remember that...demonstration Rourke gave us when we got to MASADA? When Sean and Zahra and Craig and I were disguised as Arachnid? You know, the thing he did with the beakers and the liquified crystal?”

“...Yeah...” Diego confirms. “...Kinda.”

“I have an image in my mind of him plucking a full beaker out of thin air. He talked about the Endless being able to do that herself. And...I know he was right. What if he found away to do that himself?”

“But...how? How would he do that?”

“The same way he did it with the beakers. ...And possibly the same way the Endless did it. With the crystals.”

Varyyn shakes his head. “No...no, the time crystals were not strong enough. Only the Island's Heart had enough power.”

“He has the Prism Crystal now. That's made from my life energy. And I'm the missing piece of the Island's Heart. Not to mention the Endless. ...I think the Prism Crystal has enough power.”

“To do what exactly?” I ask. “Pluck himself out of the air like a beaker?”

“Well, that's a phrase I never thought I'd hear,” she quips. “But...yeah. Basically. ...I think the Prism Crystal could have enough power to allow Rourke to pluck another version of himself out of time and space. And kill that one. Or...apparently, make that one kill himself.”

“...And Daddy Weirdbucks is fucking twisted enough that I bet he could convince an alternate version of himself to commit suicide if it would put him toward his purpose,” I growl. “One problem with that theory, Princess, is that he doesn't have the Prism Crystal. I'm pretty sure Tahira would have told you if he'd gotten ahold of it.”

“What about Liquid Prism?”

“...I guess...if he managed to get his grimy paws on that stuff, he could find a way to use it...”

“And it's definitely possible he found a way to get some,” Diego murmurs, a tremor in his voice. “I've never stopped believing he had other lackeys running around doing his bidding.”

Alodia nods. “I'll call Tahira first thing when we get home.”

“It's gonna be three hours later for her than for us.”

“I know she won't mind. Not for something this important.”

* * *

I think Tahira was in bed when we called, but Alodia's right. She doesn't mind being bothered. We sit in the kitchen with her on speaker and tell her about our theory.

“I don't know anything about how Rourke could have gotten his hands on Liquid Prism. But it is possible it wasn't all off the streets before he disappeared.” She's quiet for a moment. “It's kind of a coincidence that you called tonight. The thing is...there have been some developments here. Caleb warned us of two pretty formidable criminals who have their eyes on the Prism Crystal. The Crystal is safe at the moment. But...just a few hours ago, Grayson told me that an entire crate of Liquid Prism has gone missing from the lab.”

Zahra

“Well, fuck me sideways...” I sit back in the chair in Santiago Lupo's office, reviewing his security tapes. “There's...nothing. Nothing at all. It's like they're ghosts. And the security systems weren't tripped at all?”

“That's why Mr. Prescott insisted we make contact with you,” Santiago says. “He thinks the systems might have been hacked, and apparently, you're a genius with security systems and...figuring out if they have been hacked...”

“Well, he's not wrong. ...I have to wonder if this footage has been doctored at all. I can't see any sign of it right away.”

“Maybe they're using stealth suits,” Grayson suggests. “Dax was working on something like that.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “I've encountered technology like that before myself.”

Of course, we both know he's referring to the same stealth suit that Eva claims to have 'borrowed indefinitely.' But I'm thinking of someone else. Someone who once put a katana to my back and demanded the Island's Heart. Still, I don't think stealth suits alone would be enough to pull off a heist like this. I'm looking at security footage that shows the liquid prism being locked away in a safe for the night, and then goes to the next morning when the lab tech returns to set everything up, only to discover the stuff missing. The door to the safe never even opens on the footage I'm looking at.

“There's gotta be something we're missing here,” I muse aloud. “Leave this footage with me. I'll go over it with a fine-toothed comb. I'll figure out what we're looking at.”

Caleb

It feels weird to be meeting Tahira in the underground Prescott facility where we were both prisoners, but as she pointed out, it's safe. It's not currently in use, and it's unlikely anyone who isn't in on our secrets is going to find us here.

I light up and take a drag, exhaling smoke as I lean against the smooth metal-enforced wall. Tahira looks at the cigarette between my fingers with faint distaste, but she doesn't say anything.

“...So, it was just the liquid that went missing?” I ask. “The crystal's safe?”

“It's safe. We've got it protected.” She pauses. “You don't suppose there's any chance your...associates are behind this, do you?”

“They came in and got out without leaving a trace. If Gigi or Stonewall has that ability, I don't know about it. Don't think it's their style, either. In their own separate ways, they both like to leave impressions. They want to be noticed.”

“I can see why they thought you'd fit in, then,” she quips. I make a face.

“Low blow, hero. Accurate, but low.” I take another drag. “In any case, I'll keep my eyes and ears open. If that liquid prism hits the streets, it won't be long before news starts filtering through the underground.”

“Honestly, having it on the streets isn't what worries me.”

“No?”

“That stealth tech they may have been using? ...Minuet has Dax's only working stealth suit at the moment. ...But...” She trails off into a loaded silence.

“...But...what?” When she still doesn't answer after awhile, I press further. “You think it might be an inside job? Someone who has access to his research?”

“...I guess that is a possibility...”

“But it's not the one you were thinking of?”

She sighs. “Talos and Minuet would say I shouldn't share this with you...but...Dax isn't the only one who was working on stealth tech. There was a branch of the military that had access to a stealth suit at least five years before Dax's version was perfected.”

“And...you know this how?”

“I have my sources. But that's all you're getting for now.” She frowns, her left hand drifting to cover the wristband secured just above the joint on her right forearm. “...Hang on a sec. Someone's calling.”

“Right. Secret hero stuff. Should I plug my ears?”

“I'll just take it in the next cell,” she replies with a smirk. She steps out of sight, and I hear her murmuring to whoever has contacted her. When she comes back, her expression has turned dark.

“Big trouble, I'm assuming?”

“Not sure. Minuet's found something that concerns her.”

“Something to do with the liquid prism?”

“Worse,” she says grimly. “Seems a young woman approached her outside the hospital and left some strong hints that she had been the victim of something organized and ugly, and that she wasn't the only one. Minuet's worried she's talking about human trafficking.”

“...That's not outside the realm of possibility,” I concede. “Plenty of fucks who'll take advantage of the desperate and vulnerable. Saw enough of that in my time.”

“And did nothing to stop it, I assume.”

“Hey! I never claimed to be a hero, but I've never been a bully, either. I've never gone after anyone who couldn't fight back.”

“But those people still end up getting hurt,” she retorts. “Remember the little girl who almost burned to death when you attacked the DMV?”

I scowl. Her assessment of me smarts in spite of everything. “Okay, fine. I'm scum. Guess I should leave you to go be a hero.”

“I certainly don't have any time to waste. I'll see you around, Caleb.”

“Right.”

She leaves. For awhile, I debate following her. I flip-flop long enough that my window of opportunity undoubtably closes. It's getting late by the time I leave. Late enough that I should start figuring out where to sleep. The January night air is bitterly cold, and I hunker down in my coat, pulling the collar up over my face. Definitely a night for the homeless shelter. Sleeping in my van will likely result either in me freezing to death or setting the damn thing on fire to keep warm.

There aren't many people out on the streets. At least, not in the neighborhoods I'm walking in. Not much nightlife around here. I do recognize one person that I pass on the sidewalk. Kenji Katsaros, son of the DA. What he's doing in this neighborhood, I don't know. It's pretty late for photo ops, and philanthropy isn't really his style, either. That's more Grayson Prescott's thing. Ahh, but what do I care. He's not bothering me, just blabbing on his phone. ...Whatever he's talking about, it's clearly troubling him. He steps aside for me as we pass, but barely looks at me.

“Yeah...I'll make sure Mom knows. ...Right. …Be careful, Tahira.”

The name stops me in my tracks. I turn back to look at him, but he's walking on, his back to me, totally unaware of my presence. My thoughts start to race too fast for me to follow, like there's a bomb going off in my head, or a power surge or a short circuit that leaves only intuition functioning. I can barely understand what I'm thinking. All I know is I should follow him. I'm good enough to do it without him realizing.

I really don't know why I'm doing it. I don't actually know what language the name Tahira comes from—Turkish, maybe?—but I'm sure she's not the only Tahira in the whole city of Northbridge. But I happen to know that Kenji Katsaros is closely associated with the Tahira I know. They work together at The Grand. Also, he's heading towards the DA's office. Which makes sense, if he's going to let his mother know something. But why doesn't he just call her?

Not far from city hall, Kenji abruptly ducks into an alley. A narrow path between the buildings that could be serving for a shortcut...except that he's supposed to be going to the DA's office. I press myself flush against a wall and ease myself into the alley a safe distance behind him, keeping to the shadows. He almost certainly never realizes I'm there, because in the next moment, his skin turns to bronze, and everything falls into place.

Well, shit. ...Kenji Katsaros is Talos.

I make it to the shelter, but I don't remember getting there. I get myself a bed, but I don't really sleep. I guess that explains why he hates me more than either Tahira or Minuet do. I tried to kill his mom. Fuck. That means winning his trust is going to be a lot harder than I realized.

I think it's going to be to my advantage to lie low for awhile. At least until I figure out what I'm going to do with this information.

Eva

The next couple weeks seem to pass very quickly. Tahira, Kenji, and I have our hands full for awhile with the trafficking ring, but let's face facts, its days were numbered once we got wind of it. By February, it's been shut down, and the three of us meet with Dax and Poppy at The Grand to celebrate. Tahira helps me get home afterward, but once I get there and climb into bed, I can't sleep. Of course, that doesn't entirely surprise me. Dad has a doctor's appointment in the morning. I never sleep well before his doctor's appointments.

He's actually been doing really well. Thanks to Tahira helping me expose Mayhew, we were able to afford experimental treatments. He went into remission not long after we got Tahira back from the crystal dimension, and since then, the doctors tell me that everything has continued to be encouraging. But I can't relax. No matter how encouraging his scans, I can't shake the feeling that my father is living on borrowed time. And for all that I can put people in slow motion...I can't actually slow time down.

We arrive at the hospital's outpatient clinic with plenty of time for Dad to playfully flirt with the receptionists. He charms them as usual, and when we're taken back, we leave the waiting room in a cloud of good humor.

“You have the entire staff of this place wrapped around your finger, Dad,” I remark as I help him into a hospital gown. “I guess it helps that you flirt like it's going out of style.”

“Life is short, mija,” he says with a grin. “I will live every moment with gusto.”

My hands pause on the strings of the gown. “...I wish you wouldn't say things like that at a time like this.”

“...I'm sorry, mija. That was insensitive of me. All this is so much harder on you than on me.”

“Is it really, though? You're the one who's gone through all the pain and sickness.”

“That is difficult, it is true. But I think it is easier for me to endure than for you to watch. ...And the thought that I might die almost certainly frightens you more than it frightens me.”

“How much does it frighten you?”

He shrugs. “I don't want to die. You're still young enough that I had hoped to see many more years with you. But I don't worry about it like I would if you were still a little girl and I were leaving you without parents. You're a strong, capable young woman. And if I die in the near future, I will die with confidence that you will be all right.”

I don't say anything to that. I finish tying his gown and put my arms around his shoulders to kiss his cheek.

Not long after, the medical shenanigans get underway, and conversation becomes functional. At the end of it, the doctors are smiling, and it seems my father is still doing well. As he gets dressed, my father smiles at me with a twinkle in his eye.

“When you were a little girl and I took you to the doctor, you always got ice cream afterwards if you were brave. I think we have both been very brave today. What do you say? Do we deserve ice cream?”

“Ice cream in February?”

“I won't tell if you don't.”

So of course, thirty minutes later, we're in the glass-ceilinged atrium of Northbridge Mall, sitting on a bench in front of the fountain and watching the bubble and flow from the jets while we methodically lick the sweet, creamy heads of our ice cream cones.

“Almost like having a summer moment indoors,” my father remarks.

“If you ignore the Valentine's Day decorations and the snow outside,” I reply, gesturing up at the skylights, where a steady swirl of snowflakes is clearly visible. “I wish it were summer. I'm getting sick of winter.”

“I am grateful for winter,” Dad murmurs. “Because at this moment, it is winter. And I am grateful for this moment.”

I look back down at my cone. I dig a chunk of cookie dough out of the small vanilla hill with the nail of my index finger.

“Is that the secret to happiness then? Just be grateful for the moment?”

“I don't think it's a secret, mija. Or a guarantee of happiness. But it is how I have chosen to live since I got sick. The fact is that everyone's time is limited. Mine might be more limited than I once expected. But right now, I am alive. I am alive, and I find that this moment is worth living. ...I look forward to summer. But right now it is winter. And winter is beautiful in its own way. I won't ignore the beauty that exists now because I am waiting for something that is yet to come.”

I sigh, slipping my arm through his and laying my head on his shoulder. I feel him kiss the top of my head lightly. He has an undeniable point. I can't actually slow down time. I won't try to rush it either. It's winter, my father is alive, and I have a sugar cone topped with cookie dough ice cream. Right now, that's all I need.

Michelle

Friday morning, I wake up an hour before my alarm. I should be irritated. I don't even have to be up with my alarm, considering that I have the day off. I only set the damn thing to keep some semblance of a routine in place. But I'm not actually annoyed at all. It's excitement that has me awake so early. Today, my friends arrive from California. They're here so that my maid of honor and Sean's last couple groomsmen can have their final fittings at the tailors. It needs to be done now so that if there are any adjustments that need to be made, we'll have time to make them. I roll towards Sean, still dead to the world and snoring a little, and drape my arm over him.

In only a little over a month, I am finally going to be his wife.

*****************************************************************************************

BTW, the song Diego and Varyyn dance to is a real song. It is called Amor de mi Alma, and it is beautiful.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0xtyjJ8eYo

Also, here is a translation.

I was born to love only you; My soul has formed you to its measure; I want you as a garment for my soul. Your very image is written on my soul; Such indescribable intimacy I hide even from you. All that I have, I owe to you; For you I was born, for you I live, For you I must die, and for you I give my last breath.

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beerandpresentdanger · 5 years

Text

Spain Relief

One of my favourite pastimes - and I’m aware this might sound strange - is walking around foreign supermarkets. If pushed between visiting a local attraction - a castle, say, or a particularly well preserved Franciscan priory - and a large branch of Carrefour or Pingo Doce, then I’ll choose the second option every time. There’s something fascinating in the uncanny differences between supermarkets abroad and supermarkets at home. Walkers becomes Lays. Dairy Milk becomes Milka. Everything seems broadly familiar and yet profoundly different at the same time, a small vision into the life you would have lead if you’d only been born in Toledo or Nantes instead of Hull or Cirencester.

Nowhere are these differences more profound than in the beer aisle. Take Spain, for example, where I’ve just been. Instead of a the UK’s stacks of crates all trying to offer the lure of foreign exoticism - Belgian, Danish, French, Italian, Australian and all the rest, even if they all come from the same high-volume plants in the East Midlands - nearly everything in the Spanish supermarket traded on locality. Cruzcampo, Alhambra, Aurum - all of the big brands were from relatively close by. Add in the fact that you’re welcome to break up multipacks to buy as many as you like, and that they’re all diddy 330ml cans - well, it’s all too much to resist. So I brought them all.

I was thinking that I could provide accurate tasting notes of all them, but to be honest, there really wasn’t much to tell them apart. They were easy-drinking, low flavour, thirst-quenching adjunct lagers. At a push I maybe preferred Cruzcampo, but that might just be the Falstaffian figure on the can endearing me to it. But it doesn’t matter. At the low low rate of 22c a can (in the case of the charmingly retro Cordon Gard) it’s very hard to go wrong.

That’s not to say there isn’t excellent beer in Malaga. Like many cities, it’s got its share of “craft” offerings as well. We were in the area for a wedding, but spent two child-free nights in the city itself, taking in the tapas and some of the non-supermarket sights. It’s a lovely place. We strolled the Alcazaba, the palatial fortress dating from the era of Islamic rule in the city, where you sit by the tinkling fountains and overlook the harbour and the Mediterranean, almost imagining you can see Africa. We toured the Cathedral, a multifaceted jewel of the Spanish renaissance, where gargoyles shaped like cannon take aim at monstrous baroque altarpieces. We walked around the Bishop’s Palace, the only souls there aside from a team of bored security staff, admiring the painted wooden sculptures, a disconcerting bridge between classical marbles and Warhammer figurines. The city is small and mainly beautiful. Your shoes squeak on the shiny, polished stones.

There are a couple of well-thought of beer bars. Ceverceria Arte & Sana was the first we tried, which had a list featuring a couple of Spanish beers alongside Lervig, Pilsner Urquell and others. It was quiet in the early evening - the Spanish really do prefer to go out late - but I had a hazy, lactose-dosed NEIPA from Spanish brewery MALANDAR, and while it was a bit overly cloying, it made a nice change from endless lagers. Around the corner is Central Beers, a more open space with timber accents than brings to mind Barcelona’s legendary BierCaB, though the list doesn’t quite live up to it. It’s nothing to sniff at though, and I enjoyed a Basqueland Brewing What the F*** is DDH?, juicy and well balanced beer that went down well in the warm evening heat.

We also stopped in quickly at La Fabrica, a brewpub set up as the experimental arm of the aforementioned Cruzcampo (which is owned, ultimately, by Heineken). It’s an impressive space - almost eerily reminiscent of BrewDog’s enormous Tower Hill outpost, right down to the bleacher-style seating in one corner. Sadly the beer wasn’t worth sticking around for. I tried the inhouse pale ale, and, blindfolded, would’ve guessed it was Schweppes lemonade.

The single best beer I had was in El Pimpi, a Malaga institution, a rambling multi-roomed bodega full of nooks and crannies and an embarrassment of pictures of minor Spanish celebrities signing barrels (plus local hero Antonio Banderas). There, sat at one of the many bars, beneath a taxidermied bull’s head and an enormous painting of a rained-out corrida, I had a caña (and I am a complete convert to caña drinking - no more of this pint nonsense, give me either fleeting glasses of icy beer that disappear with a breath, or else a Maß I can get lost in) of Victoria Malaga, and it was just perfect - a slight malt sweetness, and a herbal hop finish, that combined with the setting and seating, I was ready to up sticks and settle down in the Costa del Sol forever.

All I need is a bar like that, and a really good supermarket.

#beer #ale #hops #craft beer #spain #malaga #costa del sol #writing #criticisim #food and drink #spanish #lager #cruzcampo #shopping

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benjikarofsky · 5 years

Text

We Need to Talk || Para

WHO: Benji Karofsky (@benjikarofsky), Franco Del Rio (@southsidefranco), and Topher Pierce (@topherxpierce).

WHERE: Benji’s apartment

WHEN: 31st May 2019

NOTES: Deciding to bite the bullet, Topher and Benji finally tell Franco about their feelings and suggest a compromise.

TRIGGERS: Arguing, verbal violence, slight physical violence. ‘Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it’ mentions of the following: drug use/benders, (non-explicit) self-harm, chloroform use

BOLD: Benji

ITALIC: Franco

NORMAL: Topher

WORD COUNT: 3995

"Are you sure you're ready to do this, Toph?" Benji asked quietly, turning on the bed so he could see his best friend. They were currently in Topher's room, and they had finally decided that they were going to rip off the band aid to Franco, but Benji was already having second thoughts. "I... What if he freaks and tries to hurt himself? Or relapses again? ...I don't wanna hurt him."

Topher glanced up from his phone when Benji's voice grabbed his attention and he closed the notes app in order to show he was paying attention. "I know I'm ready to do this and I also know that you don't want to hurt him. I don't want Franco to be hurt by this either, but sometimes you gotta take a risk or two. Plus, there are plenty of people keeping an eye on him. It'll be alright."

Benji bit his lip and nodded. "Okay... Time to do this." He stood up, took a deep breath, then walked to the doorway. "Franc? Babe? Got a sec?" he called, poking his head into the hallway.

Franco had been laying on the sofa, watching some television when he heard the call from Tophers room. He sighed and pushed himself upwards and walked down, curious as to why they wanted him. He pushed open the door and leant against the frame, “You guys called?” He asked, “Better be good, I was watching Friends”.

Benji nodded. "Yeah, um... You might wanna sit down," he suggested. He took a breath and moved back over to the bed, sitting next to Topher. "Toph and I wanted to talk... it's. It's kind of a complicated matter..." he rambled, looking down at his hands. He couldn't do this. He was too afraid of the fallout.

Topher gave a tiny wave of greeting as he sat up and carefully considered his own set of words. "First off, please do take a seat. Anywhere really. Secondly, Ben and I have kind of been going back and forth and we just want to basically bring an idea to you. Get feedback, that sort of thing," he chimed in.

Franco side eyed Topher, not really his biggest fan but having found him tolerable recently and moved over to an empty space of wall, sliding down it to sit and listen, "OK, why do I feel like I'm about to be ambushed or something?" He asks, looking up at the others, "Why don't you talk to me Benj... Tell me what the heck is going on? If you want me to leave I can you know, I'll just move back to Sunnyside".

Benji shook his head. "Of course I don't want you to move out. You just got back completely. Besides, I love you." He bit his lip and looked down, unable to meet Franco's eye. "...but I love Topher too," he added, his voice barely audible. "I... I want to be with both of you..."

Topher's own gaze had flicked elsewhere because while things were improving between him and Franco, there was still some very thin ice between them. Nonetheless, when Benji seemed to be trailing off, he cleared his throat lightly as a signal that he wanted to jump in. "What we're trying to say is that the idea is a polyamorous type thing. Like, you get to date Benji and I also get to date him. Hell, if things improve between us, we could end up dating too. But for now, it's just you and I dating Benji."

Franco was glad he was sitting down, it felt like he'd been punched in the stomach and his breathe was catching in his throat. Willing himself to keep breathing, he looked at Benji with confusion on his face and tears building in his eyes, "I don't understand" he said, trying to keep his voice level, "People don't do this poly...polyam.... whatever the fuck the word is". He stood himself up, looking any where but at the other two as he tried to stop his emotions from boiling over and shook his head, "How can you love me and him the same?" he said directly to Benji, "I know I've no room to talk but have you been cheating on me?".

"I don't know how, Franc! I just know that I do!" Benji snapped back, his eyes not leaving the floor. "Love isn't finite, Franc. It's not like people have 3 cups of love or something and that's it! Love is endless and, apparently for me, I love you both." He hadn't looked up quite yet, but by now he was at least finding his voice. "I love you, Franc. You know by the way I look at you... the way I hold you... the way I'd give anything to you that that's true. But my love for Topher has never changed or faltered either. And it's not going to," he admitted.

At Franco's second question, Benji finally looked up. "Never." Benji said truthfully, latching his eyes on Franc while he continued. "Because I love you too much to be anything but faithful to you; I'd never do anything without your knowledge. I haven't done anything unfaithful. We haven't even kissed."

"Guys," Topher chimed in with his usual annoyingly calm tone as he glanced between them after he'd had his fill of listening. "Going off of what Ben said, love works in a wide variety of mysterious ways. Some people will go above and beyond in order to make their partner happy whereas in cases like this, others may find themselves in love with more than one person. There are people who are currently in or have been in poly relationships before. We just don't hear about them because of the whole 'one person for life' schtick."

He had to admit that the question about potential cheating stirred up some anger, yet he just maintained the same serene as possible appearance. "And I wouldn't dream of coming between you guys. I've been a dick in the past, but that's one move I wouldn't dare to make," Topher added.

Franco felt like he couldn't breathe. He took deep intakes of breath, no control to them whatsoever and be looked to the floor, "You love each other" he said, not to anyone in particular, "And you want me to love you both too?". He was confused and hurt and not sure how to handle this.

He turned and put his hands on the wall, willing himself to breathe. He didn't want Benji to see him like this. The sheer panic in him making him want to run, "I don't understand" he said twice, "I can't breathe".

"I want you to let me love you and Toph..." Benji tried to explain, standing up and walking towards him, slowly. "I'm not asking you to do anything but keep loving you. I just... We want you to let me love Topher too. It's two separate things. Our relationship stays the same. We'd just be adding another."

He made it closer to Franco and pulled him into his arms. "Baby, breathe... If you're not comfortable, then we'll forget we ever said anything."

Topher gave a light nod as he continued to listen then shifted so that if needed, he could stand up at a moment's notice. "Franc, just take a deep breath, alright? In for three seconds, hold for four, then out for seven," he lightly stated as he tried to calm his own racing heartbeat. Witnessing a loved one's panic attack never got easier as time went on. In fact, it only made his heart weigh just a bit heavier in his chest.

"Listen, if you don't want me to be involved, then just say the word and I'll back out. We can move past this, I'll support you guys and generally have your backs," he added. "Your comfort outweighs everything else, which goes for both of you."

Franco felt his breathing increase and he felt like he was falling apart. Willing himself not too, scared of he destruction he could cause if he did. He felt Benji's arms around him, his shakes increasing from the feeling, "It doesn't stay the same" he breathed out, the emotion in his voice evident, "You won't stay in bed with me every night. You won't hold my hand in the street. You won't kiss me when we cuddle".

He shook his head, "I thought I was helping you move on? I thought I helped you move on?" he asked, each word broken with another attempt to breathe right. He pulled himself from Benji's grip, "Why are you both doing this?"

"I can do all of that, Franc. We'd just have to work it out. Of course I'm gonna kiss you when we cuddle. Of course I am," Benji whispered, not sure how to slow his boyfriend's rampage.

When Franco pulled away, he looked down. "...You became someone that I love with all my heart, Franc. But... I didn't stop loving Topher." He bit his lip. "...I'm not doing anything. Just say no and we'll forget it ever happened."

"Like I said, I'm more than willing to take a back seat or get taken out of the equation completely," Topher reminded. "There's an adjustment period for just about everything in life and this would be no different. But once again, the power is in your hands. Either we give this a trial run or go back to regularly scheduled programming."

He finally planted his feet on the floor and leaned forward as he cleared his throat once again in order to gain attention. "It felt like the right thing to do, bringing this idea to you. And I hate sounding like fucking broken record, but we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Your vote is the last one needed as to whether we all take a chance together or you guys continue on your merry way while I sit from the sidelines as a supportive friend."

Franco gulped and shook his head, "I can't say no to this" he said, as if he had no other options, "The one thing I want is for Benji to be happy and I told you the other day...." he looked to face Topher, "I told you if Benji knew you had feelings for him, he would want you".

He felt his hands shaking and took a deep breath, "I can't do this" he said through gritted teeth, "I can't give you an answer right now". He knew he could, knew he needed to calm down a bit first, "Fuck" he said as his breathing increased once more, "I can't fucking breathe".

"You can say no, Franc... It's okay." He walked closer to Franco, but kept his hands up, at first, not wanting to make the situation worse. But as soon as he noticed that Franco's hands were shaking, he pulled him back into his arms, wanting nothing more than to calm him down.

"It's okay, Franc..." he whispered, holding him tight. "It's okay, Baby... breathe. ...Never mind, okay? Forget I said anything," he cooed, using the soft tone he usually tried to calm Franco down with. "...I love you; just breathe."

Topher had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at the reminder and instead just pushed himself up off the bed. "Again, you can say no. We can adjust accordingly either way. Abracadabra and all that nonsense," the former Serpent chimed in then moved so he could lean against his nightstand.

"But Franc, please try to breathe. In for three, hold for four, out for seven. Repeat that as many times as you need to, alright?" Topher attempted in a calm tone, similar to one that a parent might use with a child who got scraped up in the yard.

Franco continued to try and fight for his breathing to control and to keep his surge of anger at bay. He did not need to hurt Benji and the man was holding him. He also did not want Topher to see the shit Benji did, "I don't want to stop you two from playing happy families" he finally said, his anger sounding out in his voice.

He felt himself trembling and suddenly he wanted the drugs. Wanted to numb himself the only way he knew how. He pushed Benji off him and headed for the bedroom door, "Fine, I'll go and make sure I forget anything was said" and he swung the door open, heading to the lounge

"Franc, it's not like that at al--" Benji started, cut off by the surprise of Franco pushing him away. "Franco, no!" he yelled, breaking into a run to catch his boyfriend before he made it out the doorway; he frantically hugged Franco from behind and started to rock him, knowing that this was usually the way he calmed him down. "That's not what we meant... We'll never bring it up again, okay? It'll be like we never even considered it. Just... stay sober, Baby. Please. I can't handle watching you relapse again."

Topher moved to stand in the doorway of his room and couldn't help the mental debate about whether or not he should increase his involvement or stand back. "Exactly. We'll lock the idea back up and just forget about it. We can go right back to normal or whatever that is for us. You guys go off on dates, have a grand old time as a couple. I'll stay here, do stuff for my online classes or at work and look after Cortana."

He had to admit, this hurt quite deeply, but there was no way he'd make that remark. While part of him wanted to take the leap of faith needed for a trial run, too much seemed to be at stake. So, the former Serpent just leaned against the doorway to his room and kept his gaze trained on the floor as he attempted to hold his tongue.

Franco was too focused at this point. He didn't want to be in this house. He couldn't forget this. Couldn't move on from this, "What would either of you care" he screamed, wanting free from Benji's grip, "You both have each other now. You love each other... I want to go and do what I need to do" he added, his voice wrecked with tears and emotion. His body shaking uncontrollably.

"Franco, you have to stop!" Benji yelled, holding Franco tighter. "Of course I care! I love you! I'm sorry we even suggested it, okay? We're just gonna forget it and go back to our regular lives; we can have breakfast and read Harry Potter... anything and everything that you want. Just us. I'm so sorry I even suggested it, Baby... Please calm down."

"And I care too, even though I've had a funny way of showing it recently," Topher fired back as he moved closer to Benji and Franco. "You guys won't even know I'm around unless you specifically request my presence. It'll be like there's a ghost in the apartment, so hopefully that helps minimize worry. I'll keep a respectable distance, this fades to the back of our minds, then everything is fine again."

Franco shook his head, "You don't get it do you" he said through gritted teeth, "I say no and you both are unhappy. I say yes, I have to once again adjust to a situation I'm not comfortable with". He pushed at Benji harder, "Let me fucking go Benji" he breathed, his voice low and warning, "Let me go.... You just got better".

"Saying no won't make me unhappy," Benji whispered, still refusing to loosen his grip. "Franco, I love you and you make me happy; if I can't have Toph, that's okay." He sighed, keeping one arm wrapped around Franco to keep him still and silently waved Topher back from them with his free hand--he knew Franco's tone; this wasn't going to be pretty, and he couldn't afford to have a physically-hurt Topher along with an emotionally-hurt Franco.

"There is no better. You're both amazing in different ways. I wouldn't have fought for you if I didn't think you were perfect for me. Franc, why don't you see th--" he sighed, "--forget it. Just know that I'm not letting go of you; physically or otherwise."

Topher took exactly two steps backward as his gaze locked on both Benji and Franco as the determination set in. He wouldn't back down anymore because he was willing to make things work, no matter how outside the box the solution would have to be. Plus, while he had intense doubts about his own merits, he remained tight-lipped because that was a debate for another day. Instead, he opted for what he hoped sounded like a reassuring enough tone as he stated, "And I'll take happiness however I can get it, friendship being the supplier in this case."

"So, with all of that in mind, do we have the final vote?" He questioned a few moments later.

Franco scoffed, "A final vote is that Benji lets go and I walk out of here to think". He turned his attention back to Benji, anger in his eyes and his voice even more dangerous, "Let me go" he spoke, gulping... "You remember what happened last time. You ended up drugging me so let me go". He knew it was low and he knew he had to stop bringing it up but his anger stopped him thinking rationally.

Benji rolled his eyes, then kept his gaze locked on Franco. “I did that to keep you safe while you went through withdrawals. You know that, I know that, and the fact that you think you can bring that up every time you’re upset with me is ridiculous. So much for getting more mature, huh, Franc?” He swallowed hard, his eyes still on his boyfriend. “If I let go of you and you leave this apartment, I will never forgive you.”

"You will accomplish absolutely nothing if you walk out the door," Topher chimed in as he fought the urge to take a step forward. "It might feel like it at the time, but boy howdy, that would be a lie of fucking epic proportions. Wouldn't it be better to stay here and hash things out than turn around just to run for the hills? Better if everything is left out in the open now instead of leaving it up in the air for people to worry and wonder about."

Franco couldn't believe this. In his mind, both the boys had turned on him, "You did do it though" he hissed out, "You numbed me then and I want to numb me now" he breathed. He gulped, "Yeah, I'd say we are past forgiving each other. You knew something like this would make me want to leave and yet you still said it all. You expect me to just keep calm about this? Let me go Benji, please" he begged.

“I numbed you to keep you safe. I came to you because I wanted to be completely honest with you. Because I love you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have said anything. I’m not expecting you to keep calm! I just wanted to air things out without you immediately turning to drugs! I thought we were done with this, Franc!”

He stayed silent for a moment, then whispered, “...fine” and finally let go of Franco.

Caution thrown to the wind, Topher took a step forward as he kept his gaze locked on Franco. "Damn, back at it again with recycling arguments," he remarked. Another step forward as he added, "Different people handle situations in a wide variety of ways, it's part of that whole 'no two people are the same' speech that makes us human."

"You've got a lot of nerve, singing the same fucking song over and over again. I can only imagine what you're going through right now, but are you seriously willing to put yourself and everyone else through hell on Earth again due to whatever the mother fuck this is? Because if that's the case, then I've got a whole new speech prepared for you and it starts like this," Topher rattled off then turned to look at Benji. "Ben, I'm so fucking sorry." With that, the former Serpent lifted his free hand and aimed to punch Franco.

Franco was glad to be free but Tophers words stopped him in his track and was about to reply when he felt a fist collide with his face and felt blood start to run from his nose. He recoiled and grabbed his face, catching some of the blood in his hand, "The fuck Topher" he shouted, shock on his face. He looked at Benji and it was like something flipped inside him and he felt the panic, he hated blood, his blood and his eyes widened, "Ben, I'm bleeding" he said simply

"Wha--Toph!" Benj yelled, completely caught off guard by Topher winding up to punch. He tried to grab one of them before his punch connected, but to no avail, leaving him speechless, standing between the two of them. It took until Franco called his name for Benji to start processing what happened.

"I'll fix it, Baby," he cooed, pulling a few tissues from the box on his desk and pulling his boyfriend into his arms so he could take care of him. "Topher..." he said through gritted teeth, unsure where to even start.

Shock had a funny way of getting rid of adrenaline and it took all of Topher's might to not buckle under the weight of what he'd just done. At the same time, he tried to regain his annoying calm as he rattled off, "I already know what you guys are about to say and I'll show myself out. Tonight or tomorrow?"

With that, the 18 year old turned back around in order to head for his room. He drew the hood of his jacket up over his face just in case the tears that threatened to escape actually followed through. "Your guys' wish is my command and all that fuckery. Just send a text my way or something, I'll consider it my eviction notice," he remarked over his shoulder. Once Topher stood in the doorway of his room again, he muttered something under his breath that vaguely resembled an apology, yet kept a low tone and his blue eyed gaze trained itself on the floor.

Franco sat on the floor taking the tissues from Benji and pressing them to his nose, "Talk to him" he said, his voice hollow and numb now. The shock of the punch was what had calmed him, "Tell him he has to give me time to process this but tell him he comes near me in the next 24 hours I'll smack him harder then he'll know what to do".

Benji sat with Franco, his arms still wrapped around him. When Franco spoke, he nodded, then took a breath--if Franco was going to be mature about this and he was the one who was punched, he knew he could do the same. "Toph," he called, his tone more tired than upset. "We're not kicking you out. Just... leave Franco alone while he processes everything, okay? At least a day--probably more like a couple--but in the meantime, this is still your apartment too; you're important to me and you deserve to be here."

Topher had already perched himself back on his bed with his guitar in his lap when Benji's voice grabbed his attention. He feigned the tuning process even though he'd performed it just yesterday because at least it kept his eyes focused anywhere else. "Yeah, I can do that," Topher answered yet once again had to hold his tongue. If he deserved anything, it was to be sent packing, but he wasn't about to turn down the opportunity to stay. "Thank you, thank you both."

#para #para18 #topher #Franco

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